


With the Wild Wolves Around You

by LogicIsGod327



Series: A Rock to Cling to While We Catch Our Breath [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pandemic, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, I love that this is the second time I've used that tag., M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post Apocalyptic Road Trips, Time Skips, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicIsGod327/pseuds/LogicIsGod327
Summary: As summer break approaches, Derek begins a tenuous romance with Stiles Stilinski. Just as the summer between Sophomore and Junior year shapes up to be the best he's ever had, it quickly turns into the worst the world has ever seen. What started as riots in Romania becomes a global pandemic, sparking not a zombie apocalypse, as pop culture had trained them to fear, but awerewolfapocalypse. Forced to run, and entrusted with the care of an infant, Derek and Stiles set on a road trip across California towards what they hope is salvation.





	With the Wild Wolves Around You

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! This is, as the kids say, a thicc girl. A month or so of work, and yes, Healer's Winter is still very much on, but I had to get this one out. I'm really proud of it, and I hope you guys enjoy how many songs I managed to throw into this. You can pretty much reconstruct my writing playlist from this work, if we're being honest. Credit where credit is due, the idea of labeling the days came from the movie 'Contagion', which provided a lot of the inspiration for this one. Title comes from Bon Iver's 'The Wolves (Act I and II).

**Day 1**

It’s the last week of May, with less than two weeks left in the school year. Derek is a sophomore, soon to be a junior, and he’s excited for the summer, because every high schooler is excited for two months of doing precisely  _ dick.  _ Not literally, unfortunately, because this is Beacon Hell, and the gay male population sits at maybe six, four of which are closeted. The remaining two are Danny Mahealani, whom he has no interest in whatsoever, and himself, of course. 

He dated Paige Krasikeva for about a month at the start of the school before he finally fessed up that she was a beard, and she was way more graceful about the whole thing than he ever deserved, even offering to keep the charade up for his sake, but he couldn’t ask that of her. She’d become pretty much his best friend since then, though the honor of Best Friend, capitals emphasized, belongs to Isaac, and it’s a title he is intensely possessive of. 

Paige integrated herself into the circle of Derek, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica with impressive ease. It took only weeks for everyone to feel as though she’d been with them since kindergarten. He came out to the rest of them shortly after Paige, and kept it at that for a few months. Then, over Christmas break, Derek told his massive family the truth. He’d been blessed to get nothing but unconditional love.

Laura, being herself, got him a tee shirt for Christmas that was a lovely heather grey with the word  _ ‘Gay.’  _ printed on it in a rainbow cursive script and positively lost it laughing at the look on his face when he unwrapped the offending item. Derek, to his credit, decided there was no better way to honor it than to wear it on the first day back to school. 

That got him a good week’s worth of attention in the rumor mill and a few remarks from that dickhead Jackson Whittemore, but little else. With that, Derek was free to be himself. Since then, it’s simply been a race towards June and the sweet freedom of summer. As he walks to where Laura waits by the Camaro, Cora already inside of it, Derek takes a moment to thank his (rarely) lucky stars for a good day. 

“Come on, you little shit.” Laura calls with absolutely no malice and wide smile. “Corin and I have a date later and I want to pick up some flowers for him.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I know you’re a postmodern feminist and all, Laur, but really? Buying him the flowers? Isn’t that just a little much?”

“He’s a sensitive boy, Derek, and he enjoys roses. That it just so happens to invert antiquated gender roles and expectations is an added bonus.” She replies. 

With that, they get into the beast of a car and make their way towards home, each of them unaware that it is the first day of the end of the world as they know it. 

-☣-

“Faster, Stiles!” Scott calls, laughing as the two of them sprint from the furious bellows of one Jackson Whittemore, swearing up a storm as he takes in the sea of shaving cream that covers his precious sports car. 

“Get to Roscoe!” Stiles replies, breathless and giddy. 

They’re in the home stretch of the parking lot, and, with some good fortune, Jackson hasn’t seen them as the perpetrators of the absolutely  _ hilarious  _ prank they’ve pulled on the school’s resident asshole. Reaching the safety of the old Jeep, the two friends get into the vehicle and sit there for a moment before breaking out into hysterical laughter. 

After a few seconds, Scott begins to wheeze and cough as his asthma catches up with him. He fishes his inhaler out of his backpack, and takes a deep breath off of the breathing aid. As they calm down, Stiles looks over at his best friend, still chortling, and wipes tears from his eyes. 

“That was the best thing we’ve ever done, Scotty.” He says, smiling joyously. “Do you think Douchemore saw us?” 

“The only thing he was seeing was that fucking convertible of his lathered up and ready for shaving, dude. We’re in the clear.” The other teen replies confidently. “I’m glad you talked me into that. Man, his  _ face!”  _

They break out into another round of laughter as Stiles turns the engine over and begins pulling out of the lot. Just as they’re calming down, they begin to laugh even harder at the sight of a furious Jackson hauling ass out of the lot, great globs of shaving cream flying off the sleek car as he pushes sixty miles per hour, leaving behind a trail of white foam that curls around the corner of the road. 

Reaching Scott’s house, they head upstairs to get a crack at their English homework before settling into the comfortable routine of Call of Duty in Scott’s living room as they wait for Melissa McCall to get home from her shift at the hospital. Like Derek and his sister, they too are unaware that, deep in the mountains of Transylvania, there is something starting that will change everything. 

-☣-

**Day 9**

It’s the last day of school, and a beautiful morning on top of it. It’s warm but not hot, and absolutely cloudless. Stiles, being the news junkie he is, has CNN on as he gets ready for the day. 

_ ‘Tragedy struck in Cluj-Napoca, the capital of Romania’s Transylvania region. Twenty-two year old Octavian Florea was shot and killed by police after brutally murdering his mother and younger sister and attacking officers who responded to reports of screaming coming from their city apartment. In an official statement, the Cluj Municipal Police confirmed that two officers sustained injuries, and that one was taken to a local hospital for treatment. The injuries are describe as non-life threatening.’  _ One of the morning anchors reports. 

Her co-host takes over, continuing the report.  _ ‘The attack has shocked the region, which hasn’t seen violence of this brutality since the reign of terror of notorious serial killer Romulus Vereş, better known as The Man with the Hammer. Mayor Emil Boc issued a statement offering his condolences to the Florea family, and offering them the support of the city in their hour of tragedy.’  _

Stiles pays little attention as they cut back to domestic affairs, and then is finished getting dressed, headed downstairs to grab a protein bar before heading to pick up Scott for their final day of classes. 

“Morning, kid.” His father calls from where he sits in the living room, reading a book. 

“Hey, pops.” He responds. “What shift you got today?”

John Stilinski looks up from his reading to reply. “Off, actually. Feel like Chinese for dinner?” 

“Dad,” Stiles begins, a lecture in his voice. “You know about your cholesterol.” 

“Stiles, how often am I home for dinner? Let’s enjoy ourselves.” He shoots back, smiling at him. 

For a moment, the younger man debates fighting this battle, but decides against it. “Fine.” He concedes, grudgingly smiling back at his father. “But watch the sodium.” 

“Scout’s honor.” 

With their evening plans confirmed, Stiles heads out to where his beloved Jeep glints baby blue in the morning sun. Getting in, he cranks up the radio as what is apparently this year’s anthem of the summer comes on. He has to admit, he’s jamming out and singing along not long after the catchy beat plays. Driving the familiar route to Scott’s, he’s in an even better mood by the time he reaches the house, where his best friend sits on the steps of his front porch, playing on his phone as he does. 

Leaning across the car to stick his head out the passenger side window, Stiles yells out. “Come on, Scotty! Last day of sophomore year, let’s go!” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Scott replies, raising a hand in greeting as he gets into the car. Loaded up and ready to go, the two take off for the school.

-☣-

“Breakfast for my beloved offspring on their last day of school.” Talia Hale smiles, sliding three loaded plates in front of her kids where they are seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen. “And for my favorite niece, as well.” She adds, grabbing another plate from next to the stove and giving it to twelve year old Kita, her sister Ritsa’s daughter. 

“Thanks, Ma.” Cora says, taking a bite from a strip of bacon. 

The others nod as well, all giving their thanks. They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes as Talia cleans up from making breakfast, until the silence is broken by Peter and Gwen coming into the room, carrying their baby son in their arms. 

“Tals, do you know where Alex’s lion onesie is?” Peter, the youngest Hale sibling asks. “Can’t find it anywhere.” 

“I think it went in with Tuesday’s wash. Try the blue basket.” She responds. 

There’s a triumphant cry from Gwen. “Got it!” She crows. “Come on, let’s get you dressed and to your appointment, mister.” She says, tickling at the stomach of her young son and relishing in the gurgling giggle he gives. 

“Drive safe.” Talia calls as the parents and child depart. “You three better hurry up.” She says, pointing at her high schoolers.

“Kita, let’s go!” Ritsa Hale calls from the base of the stairs, her jaw-length bob swishing as she does. 

“Coming, Mom!” The tweenager replies, putting her empty plate in the sink and swiping her bag from where it hangs on a hook in the foyer. “Bye, guys!” 

“Bye.” The other Hale kids reply, waving as they finish up their own meals. 

Talia bends down, kissing each of her children on the top of their heads as she swipes up their plates. “Go. I love you all.” 

“Love you, too, Ma.” Cora says. “We going?” She directs to her siblings.

Laura nods. “Yep. No need for a backpack, it’s just movies and food.” 

“Thank God for the end of the year.” Derek smiles. “Bye, Mom.” 

-☣-

The last bell of the day feels like finality as only the final day of school can. Each of the Hales has to return next year, true, but they can enjoy the freedom of summer until then. Derek is walking down the halls, spotting Laura and her boyfriend curled around one another against his locker. Not that he’d ever admit it to Laura, but he actually likes Corin. The dude is a little shorter than her, but he’s got some decent bulk on him, and he’s also just a nice guy. The two of them have been together approaching a year now, and still going steady. 

Walking past his sister and Corin, he gets lost in his thoughts enough that he isn’t paying attention when another body slams into his own with a squawk as they both go down, the other person splaying out on their back as he lands on, and probably bruises, his ass. 

“Fuck!” Derek curses. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He asks, looking at the person he collided with, realizing that it’s Stiles Stilinski. 

“My pride is wounded, but otherwise, I’m unharmed.” Stilinski replies. “Are you?” 

Derek nods as he stands up and offers a hand to the other boy. “I busted my ass harder than I did on finals, but I’ll live.” 

“Sorry about that.” Stiles says, accepting the hand and hauling himself up with Derek’s help. 

The two of them start walking in the same direction, despite the fact that Stiles was very clearly headed the other way when they body slammed. 

“Hey, so, could I talk to you?” He suddenly asks, scratching awkwardly at the nape of his neck. 

Derek nods. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I really respect what you did with coming out back in January, and…” Stiles trails off. 

“And?” 

“And that you’re not the only one.” He whispers, looking around to make sure he wasn’t heard. “If you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it a lot.” 

“Of course, Stiles, I would never tell your secret like that.” 

“I appreciate that, Derek.” The lankier teen says, giving him a tiny smile. “Have a good summer, and, uh… message me some time.” 

“I will.” He promises, smiling back at him. 

Maybe there will be some literal dick this summer, after all.

-☣-

**Day 15**

The news is playing on the countertop flatscreen in Derek’s kitchen in the morning, which he watches as he waits for the coffee pot to finish brewing.

_ ‘A third day of violence in the streets of several major cities in the Balkans. What started as spontaneous protests in Transylvania have become riots throughout Romania, and now in Moldova, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Hungary as well. On the ground in Bucharest for CNN is Kayla Greene, reporting on the violence. Kayla?’  _

The camera cuts to nighttime in the winding streets of an ancient city, where the report stands in front of a large and furious crowd that is facing off with police. 

_ ‘Thanks, Alisyn. I’m here where anti-European Union sentiment in Romania seems to have formed rapidly and out of nowhere. Approval for the institution has suffered a massive drop in the country for no apparent reason according to pollsters, and, after the disaster of April’s hard Brexit, concern is that Romania may be the next to depart the union, at grave risk to the national economy and the economy of Europe as a whole.’ _

Kayla Greene continues going on about the consequences of what’s already being called Romexit, until, suddenly, the crowd of protestors is rushing the camera crew, screaming and roaring in Romanian. One of them, a young man, manages to reach her, and his face is warped with hate, and perhaps something else. He tackles her, and is on top of her for a moment. The young reporter screams out for help, and there’s a sudden rush of blood across the ancient flagstones. The cameraman manages to peel the man off of her, and his eyes seem to glow a feral sort of gold as police officers rush over, firing rubber bullets at the attacker.

_ ‘Jesus Christ, Kay, are you alright?!’  _ The cameraman frantically demands. 

Clinging to her wrist, which is bleeding profusely, the shaken reporter nods.  _ ‘Yeah, but he… he fucking bit me!’  _

_ ‘Cut broadcasting!’  _ A third voice carries out, and the transmission from Bucharest comes to a halt, showing only a static-filled screen. Cutting back to the studio, the two anchors’ faces are filled with shock and horror. 

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, the woman speaks.  _ ‘As you can see, CNN’s Kayla Greene has just been violently attacked by rioters in Romania, and we are receiving word she is on her way to the hospital for treatment. Clearly a very volatile situation in the Balkan region at the moment, and we give our best to Kayla and will check back in with her when she’s available.’  _

“Jesus Christ, that’s brutal.” A voice breaks from behind Derek, causing him to jump in the air. 

“Shit, Dad! Don’t do that!” He snaps, taking a breath to calm his now racing heart. 

Evan Hale snickers at him for a moment as he reaches for a coffee mug from the cabinet behind his son’s head. “Coffee’s ready, kid.” He says. 

“Thank you.” Derek says, glaring at his father as he pours himself a cup. 

Sometime in the afternoon, when he’s scrolling through Facebook on his laptop, the Messenger icon pings, revealing a text from none other than Stiles Stilinski.

**SS: hey whats up?**

Grinning, Derek quickly types out a reply. 

**DH: Nothing interesting, what about you?**

**SS: just got done hangin out with scotty and thought u might wanna do something**

**DH: When’s good for you?**

**SS: now if u want**

**DH: Sure. Do you mind driving? Laura has the car.**

**SS: not a prob just give me ur address**

Typing in his street address, Derek grins to himself at the realization that he has plans. With another guy. Who  _ also  _ likes guys. Wow. This could be a shot at something pretty awesome. He stands up, realizing that old sweatpants he’s cut into shorts and a tank top he wore to paintball last spring do not make for appropriate clothes for a maybe date. He changes into a pair of white shredded jean shorts and a rich teal tee shirt, before spraying himself with the cologne his Aunt Ritsa got him for Christmas and running a comb through the flop of his oak colored hair. 

Satisfied, he heads downstairs, letting his parents know he’s headed out with friends, and then plops down on the front steps to wait for Stiles, having gotten a text that only read  _ ‘omw’  _ a few moments earlier. As he waits, Derek takes in the vast swath of front yard the Hales have, living as deeply in the woods as they do. Sometimes, he hates the isolation, but here, in the sunlight of June and with a pleasant breeze running through the artificial clearing, he loves it. It feels like nothing else exists in the world. 

Ten or so minutes later, the sound of wheels on gravel and the thrum of an old engine reaches his ears, and the blue Jeep he knows to be Stiles’ is pulling into the clearing. He stands up, walking towards the end of the driveway nearest the house, and waves to Stiles when he can see him through the old Jeep’s windshield. The other teenager gives him a wave in return, and then he is pulling to a stop a few feet from Derek. 

“Hop in!” He calls from the open windows of the car. 

Derek does as instructed, settling into the worn seats and clicking his seatbelt. “So, where to?” He asks. 

“Free choice. Mae’s Diner is  _ always  _ an option, or there’s the coffee shop with the really good lavender lemonade on Gray Street. We could go swimming, or just drive around. We could head to Santa Cruz, too.” Stiles replies, easily. 

“Never had lavender lemonade.” Derek remarks. “How about we start with that and go from there?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He grins.

-☣-

Derek is, surprisingly, a blast. He’s always been the type that’s more on the quiet side of things, but with Stiles, he seems to blossom into something totally new. He’s confident, maybe even a little cocky, and his sarcastic barbs keep pace with Stiles’ own in a way that few can. They sing along to bad pop music as afternoon drifts into the golden hour, sipping on the pale purple drinks of the aforementioned lavender lemonade as they simply drive around the streets of Beacon Hills. 

Stiles tells him about his interests, how he wants to work for federal law enforcement, or maybe do something in politics, and Derek talks about his passion for literature, especially science fiction, to which Stiles responds in kind. They debate Vonnegut versus Bradbury, with Derek siding with the Vonnegut’s satire and Stiles with the whimsical darkness of Bradbury. At one point, the conversation seems to lull, and Derek brings up what he saw on the news in the morning.

“Did you see CNN this morning?” He asks, curious. 

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, but that attack got rebroadcast on all the networks and it’s been blowing up on Twitter. People are analyzing the footage, saying the people they’re calling protestors are some kind of zombies. They’re calling that kid who killed his family patient zero to the ‘outbreak’. Sounds like horseshit to me.” 

“Probably.” The other teen inclines his head. “But the dude who attacked the reporter looked… fucking feral. It was amazing she just got away with a bite. The second he took her down, I thought she was dead and buried.” 

“Yeah, she was lucky. Makes me grateful it’s happening over there.” He replies. 

Derek gives a grim nod. “Whatever it is, I hope it ends soon.” 

“Amen to that, dude.”

-☣-

**Day 23**

Stiles is over at Derek’s for the first time, taking in the impressive scale of the woodland manor with his whiskey colored eyes wide. “Dude.” He manages to force out. “This is one Hell of a house.”

“It’s home.” Derek succinctly replies. “Want something to drink?”

“Coke, if you have it.” 

Derek slips into the kitchen, and returns a second later with a plastic bottle of the soda and jerks his head towards the living room. They plop down on separate ends of the couch with their legs tangled together, each getting out their phone and scrolling through their various feeds. For a few minutes, they swap memes and jokes that come across their respective timelines, until Derek’s iPhone pings with a news alert.

_ “World Health Organization hosts press conference in Geneva, expected to link violence in Eastern Europe to new viral outbreak.’  _ Holy shit!” He reads out from the alert. 

Stiles sits up, his eyes wide. “Dude, turn on the news.” 

Derek does as instructed, turning the channel over to CNN on the television, where the feed displays an empty desk and behind it a wall with the usual blue and white color scheme of the United Nations. Then, a middle aged man with dark skin enters the frame and sits down at the desk, looking directly into the camera.

_ ‘Hello,’  _ He begins with an Ethiopian accent,  _ ‘I am Tedros Adhanom, Director-General of the WHO. Beginning several weeks ago in the Transylvania region of Romania, a new virus has been identified. It shares mainly lupine genetic markers, likely spreading from wolves or wild dogs to humans. The virus has been designated as Human-Lupine Behavioral Virus, or HLBV. Its most present symptoms are not physical, but rather psychological. Infected individuals lack impulse control, and react to even mild irritation with violence.’  _

The Director takes a moment to consult his notes, and then continues.  _ ‘Physical symptoms of the virus include increased salivation, raised body temperature, and, most notably, a change in the iris that causes them to glow gold during rage episodes. This is believed to be the virus reproducing in the cells of the eye, but scientists remain uncertain. Aside from Romania, additional cases of HLBV have been identified in Serbia, Hungary, Greece, the Ukraine, Bulgaria, Kosovo, North Macedonia, and Poland. At this time, we can only recommend that infected individuals turn themselves over to authorities in the hopes of being quarantined until a treatment can be developed…’ _

Well, not zombies then. A lupine virus that causes aggression, that’s only one possible thing. A  _ werewolf  _ virus. Holy shit. 

-☣-

**Day 38**

The Fourth of July brings with it fireworks, food, an international travel ban to continental Europe, and news of the first mutation of HLBV. Apparently, the infected are now displaying hypertrichosis, an overgrowth of body and facial hair. There are now more than 250,000 confirmed infected, most in Romania and Serbia, but with cases showing up as far as Spain and Finland. All of Europe has been compromised by the virus. Another development is the apparent evolution of pack dynamics, often along existing lines of blood or close relationships. As suspected, the full moon brought about a spur of activity from the… well, from the werewolves. 

Stiles has updated his phone so that any news alerts about the outbreak will ping him. All the while, he and Derek have been growing closer, learning new things. He finds out that Derek is allergic to bees after one outing to the forest leaves the poor kid with a wrist swollen to twice its size, and that he can only sleep on his right side. Likewise, he reveals to Derek that he’s terrified of snakes and that he can belch the alphabet backwards.

There are other things, like favorite  _ everythings  _ and preferences for coffee and hot dogs and what side of the car to take when they ride in the backseat. Text chains run for miles and well past midnight, and the two of them FaceTime or talk on the phone until the eastern sky is turning light with the dawn, making plans for the evening after they finally get some sleep. Despite the awareness of a viral outbreak unlike any other in human history, Stiles finds himself enjoying this summer more than any before it. 

Despite all that, and despite the fact that he thinks Derek is hot like burning, nothing romantic has transpired between them. The closest they’ve come is the time that Derek FaceTimed him fresh out of the shower, with only a towel hanging low on his waist, and Stiles had to end that video call early to take care of a rather pressing issue caused by the sight of Derek’s impressive chest glistening with water droplets. 

He’s on a course to change that tonight, though. Beacon Hills prides itself on its annual Fourth of July fireworks display, which is disproportionately massive compared to the relatively small town that hosts it. The show is so large, it’s reportedly able to be seen as far as Loma Mar and Aptos. While hiking through the Preserve earlier in the summer, the two of them made their way to an overlook that offered breathtaking vistas of the Beacon Valley. He’s managed to convince Derek to hike to the overlook again to watch the fireworks, and he’s got a whole plan to woo and romance him. 

It’s so simple, it’s perfect. Despite his harebrained ten year plan to make Lydia Martin fall in love with him, which was abandoned seven months into the operation after he realized he actually didn’t like girls  _ at all,  _ he’s just going to let the view do all the work for him. The fireworks, the sight of the valley strewn out before them, the sweet isolation of just the two of them will make Derek swoon. 

It’s so perfect that, obviously, fate has to intervene and screw the whole thing. Stiles makes the mistake of mentioning the plan in front of Talia and Cora when he’s at the Hale house that afternoon.

“Oh, I know that overlook. Stiles, you’re a genius!” Talia says, smiling at him. “I’ve never considered having us all go to watch the show from there.” 

“Oh, I actually-” He goes to interrupt, only to be cut off by Cora. 

“It  _ is  _ a good idea, actually. I’m impressed, Stilinski. What kinda snacks do you like, we’ll bring those.” The youngest of the siblings says, completely oblivious to his weak protests. 

So it’s decided, then. His big romantic outing for him and Derek is now a family affair.

-☣-

When the entire Hale clan plus Stiles reaches the overlook, Derek pulls him aside, sitting the two of them down on a stone. “I know you wanted it to just be us here.” He says, smiling. “I think my mother did, too.”

“Ouch, dude,” He chuckles. “Your mom seriously tried to cockblock me? Not that I was taking you out here for sex or anything!” He quickly scrambles to correct himself.

“I know what you meant, Stiles.” Derek laughs. 

“Let’s just get on with the fireworks.” Stiles mutters, blushing furiously. 

Even with three nosy teenage girls and an infant, not mention a whole bunch of adults, Stiles has to admit the whole thing is pretty romantic. He and Derek sit next to one another on the boulder, separate from everyone else, and Derek leans his head against his shoulder, and Stiles wraps an arm around the other teen’s waist in return.

The show really is incredible. From their high vantage point, they don’t even have to look up to see the brilliant explosions of every possible color, they’re at the same height as their lookout. Huge spheres of red, white and blue dominate the sky, and dozens of smaller but nearly deafening explosions surround them, marking a spectacular finale that only seems to get grander and louder with each year their nation celebrates.

As the finale reaches its climax, and with everyone else thoroughly engrossed in the display, Derek removes his head from Stiles’ shoulder, and reaches up, cupping his cheek with his hand. Ever so gently, he pulls him close, and presses his lips to Stiles’ in chaste kiss, before breaking away and smiling.

“I take it then my master plan to woo you worked?” Stiles asks directly into Derek’s ear.

The other teenager nods, grinning like a fool. “Consider me thoroughly wooed.” 

As the last explosions echo of the sides of the valley and everyone’s ears stop ringing, Stiles’ phone buzzes. Pulling out the device, he looks at the alert from the Associated Press.

**Several packs of infected, numbering approximately 500, have successful breached the Channel Tunnel. At least one group is believed to have made it into England. UK government has declared a state of emergency, enacting a quarantine of Kent.**

“Fuck.” He whispers to himself. “Derek, they breached England.”

“You’re joking.” 

“See for yourself.”

Derek takes the phone, reading the headline. By the light of the screen, Stiles can see as his tan skin blanches in horror. 

-☣-

**Day 53**

“Stiles! Get down here!” His father calls, distress plain in his voice. 

Taking the steps two at a time, Stiles comes in to see John Stilinski standing in front of the television with a stricken look on his face. 

“Dad?” He asks. “Dad, what’s happened?” 

“The German Army lost Berlin, and they’re retreating to Bavaria.” He says. “The British have also just lost London. I guess the packs managed to get around the blockade, the soldiers could barely put up a fight. Apparently… they’re saying the whole royal family is dead.” 

Stiles moves over to the couch, sitting down in shock. “God. What about Turkey?” 

“Still holding at Istanbul, for now. They’re worried the Caucasus defense line will break, and that the wolves will come down through Armenia.” 

“And Italy?” 

John shakes his head. “Sicily and Sardinia are all that’s left. Son, the Russians are almost at the breaking point. They think there are at least ten million of them now. God knows how many millions dead.” 

“Are they gonna lose the whole Eastern Hemisphere?” Stiles asks, now just as distressed as his father.

“They might be able to hold off at Africa, and probably India, too. But the rest of it? I think so.” 

“Fuck.”

-☣-

**Day 57**

_ “Fuck!”  _ Stiles curses, even as he helplessly giggles. He rubs at the back of his head where he thumped it against the doorframe to Derek’s bedroom, each so lost in the other’s lips they didn’t realize they were bound for a collision with the doorway to Derek’s bedroom until there was a low, sort of hollow  _ thunk  _ when the back of Stiles’ head met with the unyielding white wood. 

“You good?” Derek asks, smiling at him even as he tangles his hand through the other teen’s chocolate locks, and leans in press a kiss to the crux of his jaw and neck, stifling his own laughter. 

“Never-  _ oh!-  _ better.” He replies, letting his hand wander down to squeeze at Derek’s supple ass, pulling him as close as the layers of clothes separating them will allow. “Shut the door.” He whispers hotly into his ear, even as he curls a leg around Derek’s waist. 

Derek does as instructed, and then spins them both around and lets them fall to the welcoming arms of his mattress, landing on his back with Stiles now in his lap. The teenagers scoot their way up, lips never separating as their tongues meet and they exchange breath, saliva and pure, unbridled desire. Propping himself up against the smooth wood of his headboard, Derek reaches around and pulls Stiles even closer, rubbing their denim-clad groins together in such a way that they are both left seeing stars. Stiles breaks the kiss to throw his head back and let out a throaty moan to the ceiling. Taking advantage of the position, Derek leans in to suck a mark against the pale skin of his neck, even as he squeezes his hands into the other boy’s jeans and boxers, grasping at his rear and pulling him somehow even closer, making light dance behind their eyes. 

They’d love to get each other’s clothes off, but they aren’t going to make it that far. This is a race to the finish, and they’re neck and neck. Stiles curses loudly, grateful that the usually packed house is empty, and weaves his fingers through Derek’s medium length hair, messing up the fringe of his bangs as he presses a kiss to the top of his head, before snapping his hips against his lover’s once, twice, three times and then he’s  _ gone,  _ making a sound like a wounded animal when he comes. 

Derek is only a few seconds behind, groaning in the smooth expanse of Stiles’ neck as he finishes and sticky warmth floods the confines of his underwear. He bites down on the other teen’s collar bones, muffling his pleasure into his skin. When he’s recovered and his vision is no longer whited out, Derek pulls back and sees the angry red imprint of his teeth, but is grateful to see that he hasn’t broken skin anywhere. 

They sit like that for a long while, trading chaste kisses as they catch their respective breaths. Finally, Derek breaks the silence. 

“Okay, I don’t know about you, but my underwear are pretty fucking gross right now.” He says, chuckling. 

Stiles laughs with him. “Yeah, I think these are goners.” 

“You can borrow a pair of mine, I’ll make sure they get washed.”

Heading over to his dresser, Derek pulls out a pair of plain black boxer briefs and throws them to Stiles. They clean up and change separately, each affording the other privacy in spite of the extremely intimate nature of the activities they were engaged in only minutes prior. Somehow, seeing Stiles naked is different than feeling the hard line of his erection, knowing just how smooth and hairless the skin of his ass is, even knowing what he sounds like when comes. It feels like something still just out of reach, and so he politely averts his eyes as the other teenager changes, and Stiles grants him the same.

Afterwards, a quick consultation with the clock reveals that it’s not yet two in the afternoon, and they both agree that it’s lunchtime. They head for the kitchen, and raid the enormous pantry in the Hale house, stealing bags of chips and sodas, and then make themselves sandwiches, before heading into the living room and settling in to watch daytime cable.

Halfway through  _ The Avengers,  _ the audio cuts out for a moment before the telltale blare of the Emergency Alert System shrieks out of the television speakers. A garbled, robotic voice speaks afterwards. 

_ ‘This message is transmitted at the request of the federal government. Please stand by for a message from the President of the United States.’  _

The screen then immediately cuts to a shot of the President sitting at a desk, with the great seal visible behind her on a stark concrete wall. The look on her face is one of deep severity, and she speaks with gravity. 

_ ‘My fellow Americans. Today, at 5:26 PM eastern standard time, a ship with approximately two hundred individuals infected with the lycanthropy virus ran aground in Boston, Massachusetts in what is believed to be a deliberate act of bioterrorism.’  _ She says.

_ ‘Despite efforts to contain the infected, at least thirty have escaped into the South Boston area. As a result, I am quarantining the state of Massachusetts, and declaring martial law in the states of Rhode Island, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. As an additional precaution, United States military will begin enforcing a border at the Ohio, Potomac, Mississippi, and Saint Croix Rivers, as well as through the small stretch of land border shared by Wisconsin and Minnesota.  _

_ ‘These secondary quarantines are a necessary evil to ensure that we do not meet the fate of Europe, but I remain confident that we will defeat this threat, and maintain the safety and integrity of this hemisphere. As an additional precaution, I, along with the other heads of states of the Americas, as well as Iceland and the Danish government in Greenland, have agreed to end all trade and travel with the Eastern Hemisphere. For the safety of our nation, and the survival of our species, I promise to do whatever it takes. Thank you, and may God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.’  _

Her address ends with that note, and with the impossible feeling of terror in both boys as they stare at the screen.

“It’s here.” Derek whispers in shock. “It’s really here.” 

-☣-

**Day 59**

After a massacre of hundreds in downtown Boston, the United States takes a step no other nation has yet dared. While his father is at work, Stiles is helplessly watching the news, which shows a mushroom cloud blossoming over what was once called the city of Boston. A ten megaton nuclear weapon was dropped from an airplane, and, in an instant, an estimated million people were dead. The President issues another address, confirming that she ordered the bombing, and citing the failure of quarantine protocols in the greater Boston area. 

Hours later, nuclear fire consumes six cities in Russia, including Saint Petersburg and Moscow. The next morning, another nuke goes off and destroys Liverpool in the UK. The Russian and UK governments confirm they were responsible for the attacks against their own nations. That same morning, packs of infected, nearly a thousand wolves in total, begin a slaughter in Cairo, one that is believed to leave as many as a hundred thousand infected. 

In Romania, where all this horror began, the last of the most rural towns and villages have been overrun, and what few snippets of news escape the country show the feral packs going about crude imitations of their human lives. Utilities have failed, and there hasn’t been fuel for the vehicles in a month, but videos show the werewolves still get into their cars each morning. One even shows a werewolf haphazardly driving down the roadway, only the crash the vehicle after perhaps a quarter of a mile. The wolf gets out, seemingly unharmed, and the video captures, in crystal clear HD, their wounds sealing shut, healing in seconds rather than days or weeks. The next mutation to HLBV has arrived. 

-☣-

“How was it, Dad?” Stiles asks as his father arrives home from new training being given to all law enforcement officers in the US by order of the President. 

“Well, with this enhanced healing shit, they’re a lot harder to kill. We’re trained to use as few bullets as possible, and to shoot for the head, neck, and heart. They’ve also taught us how to identify the alphas, apparently they have different colored eyes.” 

Stiles cocks his head, squinting at his father like he’s not sure he heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, did you say different colored eyes?” 

John Stilinski nods. “Yep. The alphas have red eyes. They don’t get it, but if alpha dies, another will become the alpha, but there’s a few minutes where the pack is disoriented. Kill the alpha, and you have a window to eliminate the rest.” He sits down, rubbing at his temples as he does. “There’s more. They’re getting smarter.”

_ “Smarter?”  _ The younger man asks, now plainly aghast.” 

“The wolves aren’t just killing people, now. They’re figuring out that if they just wound and infect someone, it’ll make more of them. They’re actively trying to spread the virus, now.” He says grimly. “They won’t let just any of them bite, either. They’ll hold someone and wait for the alpha to do it. We think it makes the infected loyal to that alpha once they turn.” 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah. But the President nuked Boston. I doubt even those things could survive that. The firestorms went miles into the air, for God’s sake.” 

“Maybe you should teach me some of what you’re learning.” Stiles suggests. 

John shakes his head. “You’re sixteen, Stiles. You should be out with Scott and Derek and your other friends, not worrying about how to fight werewolves.” 

“Speaking of…” The younger man trails. 

“Of what?” He looks up, furrowing his brow in confusion. 

Stiles swallows, sitting down and meeting his father’s gaze. “Dad, I’m bi.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Derek and I are together.” 

“Okay. Anything else I should know?” 

He shakes his head. 

John stands up, moving around the table to kneel next his son and pulling him into a tight embrace. He places a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head, before leaning back and smiling. 

“I’m glad you told me, and that you have someone. This whole thing is really scary, and I’m not home much. It makes me happy that you’re not alone, and Derek is a good kid. Do his parents know?” 

Stiles shrugs. “We haven’t had any official talk, but yeah, they do.” 

“I’d like for them to come to dinner with us, so we can do this properly and all.” John says. “Be sure to let Mr. and Mrs. Hale know when you’re over there again.” 

“I will.” He promises. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, kid. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.” 

-☣-

**Day 64**

“Sheriff Stilinski.” Evan and Talia Hale arrive for the requested dinner three nights later, bearing their son and a large bowl of fruit salad. 

He shakes his head, smiling politely at them as he leads them to the backyard where the grill is cooking. “Please, call me John. We’re going to be seeing each other quite a bit, I imagine.” 

“Evan and Talia, then.” The Hale matriarch replies. “Hey, kiddo.” She says, waving at Stiles. 

“Hey, Mrs. H, Mr. H.” He replies, before going over to wrap his arms around Derek. 

Dinner is steaks from the grill, and with the Stilinskis raving about Evan’s fruit salad and the Hales equally enthusiastic for John’s talent with barbecuing meat. 

“I make it with miracle berries, but I don’t think I’ll be getting any more.” Evan comments. “The quarantine of the Old World means we’re not importing them from Africa anymore.” 

The Sheriff nods. “I know. Coffee is getting so damn expensive. $30 a pound for the cheap shit, and don’t get me started on espresso. Almost ten bucks for a venti at Starbucks!” 

“It’s the new normal, I guess. They’re already saying gas is going to go up by at least three dollars since we lost the imports from the Middle East.” Talia adds. 

The conversation flows to happier topics, and the dinner is declared a success by all. Stiles and Derek excuse themselves upstairs, and John is left alone with the other two parents, the three sitting in the living room to talk. Finally, he breaches the topic he’s been waiting to the entire evening.

“You really do have a wonderful son, John. He’s made Derek happy in a way I haven’t seen him since he was a little kid. I’m glad that it’s Stiles putting that goofy look on his face.” Talia remarks, smiling. 

Evan nods. “He’s a good kid. Not to mention he likes the Mets, so I’m no longer alone on  _ that  _ front.” He chuckles. 

“Derek is a pretty great one himself. Even if I’ve had to bust your daughter and her boyfriend in a compromising position out in the Preserve more than once.” John says, laughing. 

Talia groans goodnaturedly. “Don’t remind us.” 

As the laughter dies down, John sobers considerably as he takes a deep breath. “So, you two know that the President has ordered law enforcement to undergo training to fight the wolves. Now, it looks like nuking Boston worked, but we’re still taking precautions.” 

“Precautions?” Talia asks, now curious. 

“Yes, precautions.” He says. “If the wolves return, and become a problem, they can call us up to the quarantine boundaries to try and keep order there. Look, I absolutely hate to ask this of you, but if I ever get called up to fight the wolves, God forbid, could you put up Stiles?” 

The two Hales give each other a consulting look, but exchange no words before they both nod. “Of course.” Evan says. 

Talia smiles gently. “We’re honored you would ask.” 

“Thank you, I can’t overstate how much I appreciate that.” John says, clearly relieved. “His closest relative is his aunt in Arizona, and I’d rather not have to ship the poor kid out there if I can avoid it.” 

“If it comes to you leaving, we’ll gladly take care of Stiles.” Talia emphasizes. 

“He doesn’t know about this, and I’d appreciate it if he didn’t find out unless it’s happening.” The Sheriff adds. “He’s got enough to worry about.” 

“Of course, John.” Evan says. 

“Thank you both, so much.” 

-☣-

The next morning, Stiles and Derek make plans with Paige. Truthfully, Stiles has barely ever spoken to her, but the once or twice they’ve met she’s been nothing but pleasant. They take the Camaro for once, as Laura is staying in with Corin at the house, and it’s a beautiful day as they pull up to Paige’s place. It’s the last day of July, and the pouring heat makes it clear that the dog days of summer are here. 

Pulling up to the low ranch style house where she lives, the two boys get out and march through the already stifling heat to knock on her door. Almost immediately, Paige is out to greet them, throwing her arms around Derek in a tight hug. 

“Oh my God, I haven’t seen you in forever!” She says before letting him go and turning her attention to Stiles. 

“Hi, Paige.” He says, holding a hand up in greeting. 

Studying her features, Stiles comes to the realization that  _ holy shit, Derek has a type.  _ He has to admit, the similarities between himself and Derek’s former cover girlfriend are… myriad. From the moles, to the pale skin, even to the surprisingly square jaw that still manages to look delicate on both of them. He thinks it’s really cute, if he’s being honest. 

Paige isn’t going to let him get away with just a quick wave, though. She quickly pulls him into a hug that is stunningly powerful for such a small girl. Stiles returns the hug, laughing as she speaks again. 

“I’m not the only one who noticed we could totally pass for siblings, right?” 

“Nope, I realized it, too.” He returns, much to Derek’s chagrin. “Our boy here has a type.” 

Derek speaks up, red as a beet. “Okay, this was the worst idea ever. I’m just going to… just leave.” 

Both of them laugh at that before Stiles shakes his head no, still chuckling. “Sorry, not allowed. You have to suffer.” 

Making their way to the car, the three teenagers hop on the road that leads towards the Preserve. Driving past the turnoff to the Hale house, they venture deeper into the forest until they finally reach their destination. The pond is large, perhaps more accurately described as a small lake, and teems with life. It’s located in the deepest part of the Preserve, near the heart of the Hale land, which is itself nearly ten thousand acres. 

The teenagers slip off their clothes to reveal the bathing suits underneath, and Paige doesn’t even bother looking back. She just sprints down an outcropping of rock that stretches out over the water and dives right in, her two years on the swim team showing clearly in the elegance of her dive and the nearly nonexistent splash she makes upon entry. 

The two boys take one another’s hands and run down the outcropping together, leaping out over the water and breaking apart mid air, with Derek narrowing his form and Stiles making a cannonball at the last possible second. The water is surprisingly warm, just a few almost like bathwater, but it’s still wet and it’s still cooler than the hot, muggy air of the central coast of California. Surfacing, Stiles fills his lungs with air, and looks around to find Derek and Paige laughing. He swims over, and Derek immediately wraps an arm around him, plastering their bodies to one another. 

“Nice splash, Stilinski.” Paige giggles.

He joins the laughter as he speaks. “Thanks, Krasikeva.”

-☣-

**Day 69**

After they hang out with Paige, Stiles officially introduces Derek to Scott and Lydia. The three of them drive down to the mall in Santa Cruz, where they find some of the stores woefully barren. In the days since the embargo with the East has been set, certain clothing, foodstuffs, and a lot of technology has been in short supply. 

“Ugh,” Lydia remarks, “Fifty-five bucks for Arabica?!” She puts the offending bag of grossly overpriced coffee back on the display in the Starbucks where they’re at. 

“Tell me about it.” Scott says. “The cost of an inhaler has tripled.” 

Derek barks out a shocked laughed. “Okay, you might have it worse than us.” 

“At least my favorite drink hasn’t gone up.” The asthmatic adds. “Strawberries and açaí berries are New World fruits.” He smiles, taking a sip of the fruity beverage. 

They’re on the road back to Beacon Hills when the radio in Lydia’s Porsche begins blaring the emergency alert siren. Once it clears, the same robotic voice from the previous announcement speaks.

_ ‘This message is transmitted at the request of the federal government. At 2:16 PM local time, authorities in the city of Vancouver confirmed that there were several hundred cases of HLBV within the city limits. Before quarantine protocols could be enacted, at least thirty infected individuals made their way out of the city.’  _

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Stiles swears. “It’s here.”

_ ‘As a precaution, the government of Canada has quarantined the province of British Columbia. For additional safety measures, another quarantine will be enacted in the state of Washington.’  _

The address continues, but none of them listen. All they can do is process the realization of what’s happened. It’s here, and there may be no stopping it.

-☣-

“No fucking way!” Stiles yells. “You’re not leaving for the quarantine zone!”

John shakes his head. “It’s not a choice, Stiles. I was an officer in the military, and I’m a sheriff now. I’m priority one personnel for them. I’m sorry, son. I really am.”

“I am  _ not  _ letting you go off and get yourself killed, or worse!” His son stresses, tears brimming at his eyes. “I can’t lose you, too.” He whispers. 

“I don’t have a choice. Look, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I thought the general quarantine would work.” 

“What about me?” 

“I spoke to the Hales. Talia and Evan are more than willing to take you in. I have to pack, Stiles. I report to Alameda Base in six hours.” 

“Dad, no.” 

John walks over to his son, pulling him tight. “I know, I know.”

“Promise me you’ll come home.” Stiles begs. “Promise me.”

“I promise, I will do everything I can to come back to you. Whole, and  _ human.”  _ He vows.

An hour later, the Sheriff’s bags are packed and loaded into the trunk of his personal vehicle, and Stiles’ are in the back of Roscoe. The two Stilinski men stand across from one another in the driveway, the late afternoon sun throwing long shadows behind them. 

“I love you, son.” 

“I love you, too, Dad.” 

-☣-

**Day 77**

One week after the battle for North America begins, both the United States and Canadian governments close their schools. It only took a day for the infection to cross from Vancouver into Seattle, which resulted in a slaughter. The packs that formed almost instantly were just as clever and deadly as those in Europe, Asia, and now Africa. The WHO and CDC lost count of the infected, but they estimated as many as five hundred million, with an addition three hundred million dead. 

Stiles has been living with the Hales for a week, never leaving their sprawling property the whole time. As a formality, more than anything, he was given one of the guest rooms, but he’s spent every night asleep with Derek in his bedroom, and no one has had a thing to say about it. It’s time for lunch, which, in a household of eleven, now twelve, is an actual sit down meal. They’re all gathered in the kitchen, with the five teenagers at the island and the adults at the informal table they keep in the kitchen, and the baby is in his high chair. 

“How’s everyone’s soup?” Derek’s Aunt Ritsa asks from where she’s slicing up chicken for dinner. 

“Excellent.” Cora says, and there’s a general murmur of agreement, but it’s subdued.

Since the wolves arrived on the continent, the entire house has been on constant edge. The television screens haven’t changed off of CNN in five days, and there’s a constant feed from the front, showing the battles live and uncensored. What’s worse is that for every victory, every rout of the packs from the towns they’ve invaded, there’s five or six defeats, shots of desperate refugees, many horribly wounded, as they make a break for the lines of the Q Zone, as it's now known.

When lunch is done, they all break to do something to fill the time. Stiles and Derek find themselves on the back porch, watching as a thunderstorm rolls in from the east, distant flashes of lightning illuminating the hills. 

“Anything from your dad today?” Derek asks. 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, a text. He’s still in the command center, thinks he’s gonna stay there.” 

“That’s good.”

“It’s really good. It means he isn’t dying on the front.” 

Derek plays with a loose thread on his shorts. “They managed to expand the Q Zone from Portland into Vancouver, across the Columbia River.” 

The other teen shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. After a moment, he speaks. “I fucking hate this.” 

“Hate what?”

_ “This!”  _ He says, gesturing to everything. “Being stuck here, having nothing to talk about besides the army of death that’s coming for us! God, it feels like we’re sheep waiting for the slaughter.” 

“I know, Stiles, I know.” He replies. “I hate it, too.” 

“Derek, promise me something.” 

“Anything.” 

“If those things come here… and they get me, I want you to- I want you to kill me.” 

Derek turns, looking at him with shock. “What?!” 

“If a wolf bites me, I want you to kill me. I don’t want to be some feral beast, I’d rather die.” He explains. “I won’t become some mindless soldier in the army to destroy humanity.” 

“I… I promise, Stiles. I won’t you let become one of them.” 

“Thank you.” He says, leaning over to give him a chaste kiss. “Let’s get inside, the storm’s about to start.” 

-☣-

**Day 87**

For once, Derek wakes up before Stiles, and he takes the time to study his boyfriend’s face as he sleeps. The constant worry that paints his waking expression is gone, and Stiles looks years younger, like the sixteen year old he actually is, rather than the world-weary man he’s become in this frightening new reality. 

His lips are parted as he snores ever-so-softly, and Derek reaches out to run his finger along Stiles’ bottom lip as gently as he can, just to feel the plushness against him. Stiles shifts in his sleep, putting an arm possessively around Derek’s waist, pulling him closer, and, with an internalized chuckle, the raven haired teen complies. Twining their legs together, he settles back in, resting but not sleeping.

Eventually, Stiles wakes up, and Derek opens his eyes the second he hears the characteristic sharp inhale that his boyfriend always seems to take upon waking. 

“Morning.” He says, his voice rough from disuse. 

Stiles grins, kissing him quickly. “Good morning, gorgeous. Let me up, my morning breath feels lethal even to me.” 

Derek obliges, untangling himself from Stiles and rolling onto his back. Stiles heads for the bathroom across the hall to brush his teeth while Derek stretches on the mattress, working out a kink from his back. Settling back in, he waits for Stiles to finish up as he mulls the day ahead. They’ve gone out once since John departed for the Q Zone, about five days ago, and what they found was shocking. Plenty of people had just up and left town, many of them saying the same thing: ‘ _ We’re headed east of the Mississippi.’  _

That same day, he’d gotten a group FaceTime from Boyd, explaining that he and his mother and sister were headed for his great uncle Louis’ place in some tiny little town in the Mississippi Delta called Delacroix, Louisiana. Erica had been noticeably teary eyed at the revelation, and Isaac had confirmed that his older brother Camden was seriously debating taking them to their cousin Emily’s in the backwoods of New Hampshire. 

The Hales, for their part, planned on sheltering in place. Derek’s paternal grandparents lived in Upstate New York, but their place couldn’t possibly hold twelve additional people, and none of them were eager at the prospect of becoming part of the tide of refugees already flooding the east coast from Europe. Derek wonders if they should head out again today, just the two of them, maybe try and go to the beach in Santa Cruz or grab lunch, assuming any of the restaurants are still open. 

Just then, Stiles walks in, smiling at him lazily. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” 

“So… everyone’s still asleep, and all the adults are at work.” 

Derek sits up, raising a brow and smirking. “Oh?”

“Think you can keep your voice down?” He asks, crossing the room and settling onto Derek’s lap, sliding his hands down his bare chest, right for the danger zone. 

“I always loved a challenge.”

-☣-

“Well…” Stiles says, panting. “Challenge, uh… challenge successful.” 

Derek laughs. “I aim to please, and succeed.” 

Just then, a sharp knock jars them both out of their post-sex haze, before Cora’s voice breaks through the door, muffled but clearly irate. “Are you two done, or should I start blaring music?!”

Both teenagers bust out laughing at that, before finally Stiles recovers enough to slip on a pair of sweats and walk to the door, assuring Cora that they’re done, and apologizing for the ruckus, even if he isn’t the least bit sorry. A few minutes later, the two of them are downstairs, finding Laura putting a bunch of frozen waffles into the Hale’s industrial-sized toaster. As they enter from the foyer, so does Kita, balancing Alex on her hip. 

“Stinky Butt here is changed, and Aunt Gwen owes me money for that, because wow, I had no clue a baby could do that kinda damage to a diaper.” She says with no real malice as the baby babbles softly.

Laura gives a wry chuckle. “Waffles will be done shortly, you want chocolate chip or plain?” 

“Plain, please.” Kita replies, easing Alex into his highchair. 

“What kind of child are you, turning down chocolate chip waffles?” Stiles asks, mortified. 

“A godless one, what’s your point?” 

Shaking his head, Stiles makes his way to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup of the stuff before shooting an asking look to Derek, who nods, and then pours him a cup as well. Cora retrieves a bowl and pours out some cheerios for the baby, who digs in immediately, and only makes a slight mess of his breakfast as he does. 

“Morning news?” Stiles asks, looking over to Laura. 

The eldest Hale vehemently shakes her head. “No. It’s depressing, and I’ve had enough of live shots of werewolves being slaughtered at the Q Zone.”

“Yet they keep making more.” Derek groans. 

Cora chips in next. “Barely anyone made it out of BC or Washington, and the infection rate’s gone up and- and we’re doing it again. Didn’t everyone agree to try and talk about anything  _ but  _ the outbreak?”

“Yeah, we did.” Stiles nods. “Let’s watch a movie after breakfast. Preferably a comedy.” 

Forty five minutes later, the lot of them are crammed together on the largest sofa in the living room, making their way through some mindless romcom with Jennifer Aniston. Just as the plot begins to pick up, there’s the screeching of tires from outside, and the very loud slamming of car doors. The older kids snap up from the couch immediately, telling Kita to stay inside with the baby. Making their way outside, they see that all of the adults are back at once, and, in a trailer attached to Evan Hale’s SUV are a large number of thick wooden beams. 

“Mom, Dad?” Laura yells. “What’s happening?” 

Gwen sprints past them without so much as an acknowledgement, yelling for her niece and son, and Ritsa looks at them with stark, genuine fear in her eyes as she speaks. “We got a phone call from John. They’re falling back to the Rocky Mountain line. The quarantine broke in eastern Oregon, and they’re not giving any warning. The government is just surrendering everything west of Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico.” 

_ “What?!” _ The four teens shout all at once, but Talia rushes over, holding out her cell phone for Stiles. 

“Your father.” She quickly explains. 

“Dad, what’s going on?” He asks, panic in his voice. 

_ ‘Son, they’re ordering us to cut our losses. In ten minutes, I’m heading out for the command center in Denver. Look, I can get you evaced, but it’s going to take some time. You all need to barricade the house up, top and bottom floors. Give me a month, Stiles, and I will have a helicopter to you guys for extraction, but I need time to organize.’ _

“We’re just supposed to wait for you locked up for a month?!” 

_ ‘I’m trying, Stiles. There are a lot of people who are ahead in line for rescue ops, but I’m command staff, so they’re giving me some dispensation. Listen, I’ve told Talia that if the house gets compromised, there’s a backup location. Sierra Army Depot, near Pyramid Lake. It’s on the California side of the Nevada border. If you have to run, run there, and find a communications tower. There’ll be a list of contacts in the system, you need to find the one called NORAD/WESTCOM. Got it?”  _

“Dad, I’m scared.”

_ ‘I’m scared, too, son. Listen, I have more stuff I need to tell Talia. I will call you when I’m in Denver, okay? I love you.’  _

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

_ ‘That’s your job, kiddo. I’ll see you soon.’  _

He hands off the phone back to Talia, before Evan comes up, handing him several boards of wood. “Take those into the dining room, please.” 

-☣-

**Day 91**

Four days after they board up every door and window in the house as the Pacific states are quite literally left to the wolves, the power goes out. True to their word, the government gave no warning until they’d fortified the border to the Rocky Mountain states. The airports crowded with tens of thousands, as did the ports and train stations, but no planes took off, nor did any ships set sail, nor did any trains go out across the tracks. All forms of mass transit shut down immediately. 

The roads and highways surrounding the major cities became crowded with millions as they fled the major cities for the hills. It was the highways that proved the most valuable targets for the packs, which somehow made their way down through Oregon and into northern California so quickly. All those humans, trapped in their vehicles, were the perfect targets. Thousands were slaughtered on those accursed roads, and tens, if not hundreds of thousands, joined the ranks of the feral werewolves. 

On the last day before the power went out, the few reporters still returning footage to their stations spoke of groups of people willingly offering themselves to the packs. MSNBC ran terrifying footage of a family, a mother, father, two young kids and a baby, walking right into the ranks of a pack without even resisting. Perhaps more horrifying, the wolves actually  _ didn’t  _ attack. The alpha stepped forwards, quickly biting all of them, even the baby. The newly infected didn’t turn, that took hours, but they did leave with the pack, no doubt headed to spread the infection.

It’s just after two in the afternoon when the lights all snap off, the entire house humming as everything not battery operated goes dark. What’s truly stunning is just how  _ absolutely black  _ it is inside the house without any light sources. They all reach into their pockets, pulling out their phones and turning on their flashlights as they do. 

“No wifi, and no service.” Peter says. “This is a big blackout.”

“We knew it was coming,” Evan retorts. “Why do you think we’ve been putting candles all over the place the last four days?” 

“Thank God we have a gas and water on site.” Ritsa adds, running over to the gas stove and turning it on, just to make sure. 

After getting candles lit throughout the downstairs, everyone gathers in the large dining room, gathered around the small, battery operated radio Talia found in the basement a couple of days ago. They scroll through the stations, almost entirely static, until they finally get a grainy broadcast at 107.1 FM, where a young man is speaking. 

_ ‘... didn’t mean to go off air on you folks, it seems the entire state of California has just lost power, and we had to go to the gennies. To anyone still listening, we here are alive and well, broadcasting from a fortified radio station somewhere in the Henry W. Coe State Park. Our last report from outside came about five minutes before the blackout, which we cannot authenticate but have no reason not to believe, and that is that the first packs of werewolves have reached Los Angeles.’  _

“Holy shit…” Gwen curses, prompting Peter to wrap his arms around his wife, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

_ ‘Obviously, this is a bit of a blow. It seems Tinseltown won’t be producing much besides howls and screams for a good while. I’m your DJ, Theo, and to give LA the send off they deserve, here’s a classic. It’s Warren Zevon, with  _ Werewolves of London.  _ Enjoy, and keep listening to 107.1 COE, your radio for the apocalypse.’  _

“Bit twisted, isn’t he?” Talia murmurs to herself as the jaunty piano intro to the song plays. 

Stiles shrugs. “We all cope somehow.” 

They switch off the radio after that and sit in the darkness for the moment, the candles on the table casting long shadows behind them onto the walls. Eventually, Ritsa clears her throat and speaks. 

“We need to use up what’s in the fridge, and quickly. The stuff in the freezer downstairs will last a week or so if we keep the thing shut and only open it once or twice a day.” She says. “So, with that, it’s omelettes for dinner. We need to get rid of the eggs and produce.” 

A couple of hours later, Stiles finds himself locked in an intense game of chess with Kita. For a middle schooler, she’s damn good at it, and her style is relentless, and merciless. She sacrifices her own pieces without second thought, all in pursuit of his king. He’s not without his own hope, however, and the game lasts nearly an hour, until they’re both down to just four pieces. Just as Stiles considers whether or not to put his opponent in check, he hears it. 

It’s so quiet at first that he thinks it might just be the wind, or something like that, but then it clearly isn’t. The sound gets louder and louder until it’s practically ringing in his ears.  _ Howling.  _ The warnings said that the cries of the packs could be heard for miles. That their coordination was dependent on long distance communication. It means only one thing.

The wolves have reached Beacon Hills. 

-☣-

**Day 107**

The howling hasn’t stopped since it started. In fact, at this point, none of them are even phased by it. It’s like background music, an occasional break in the monotony of silence and speaking in practical whispers. At this point, they can all sleep through the cries of the packs as they doubtlessly savage the people of the town a few miles away. 

They listen to the radio as much as they can, mostly for the sense of  _ any  _ connection to the world outside of their boarded up manor. Theo isn’t the only DJ, a woman named Hayden and another man called Corey have their own shifts, and the three of them will occasionally play games together on air. The DJs haven’t heard from anyone outside, but they make it clear they’re prepared to settle in for a few months, at least. 

When they aren’t bullshitting on the radio, the DJs will actually play some pretty decent music. Apparently, 107.1 COE was a country station, but when Theo took over the building, he brought with him a collection of a few thousand alt and indie songs, mixed in with the classics and a healthy dose of Britney Spears and the other pop divas of the twentieth and twenty first centuries. 

All of them are gathered in the library where they’ve lit enough candles that the room is actually impressively lit up. The use of a few well placed mirrors has helped quite a bit, as well, and Stiles is making his way through a book on the Guelph-Ghibelline Wars. Talia and Evan are locked in a game of gin, and Laura, Cora, and Kita are all in a rather intense game of Sorry. The radio is just finishing up playing an Imagine Dragons song when Hayden’s voice comes across the grainy airwaves. 

_ ‘That was Imagine Dragons with  _ Bad Liar,  _ off their final album  _ Origins.  _ We here at 107.1 have some exciting news, as we have successfully made contact with the outside for the first time in two weeks after Corey was digging in the basement and found a satellite phone. After a few tries, we have all successfully reached relatives, and we can give you our first report on what’s happening outside.’  _

“Guys, turn it up!” Peter says, unable to move from where his son is asleep on his chest. Derek makes his way from his own book and cranks up the radio, and they all crowd around the small radio, waiting for the hostess to share what they’ve learned. 

_ ‘In good news, the Rocky Mountain line has successfully held, as has the 49th parallel. The south has also held, however, Alaska, Canada, and the northeastern states have completely fallen. The federal government has relocated to Honolulu, and the Hawaiian Islands have completely cut off all travel with the outside world. The entire country of Mexico has fallen, though the border with Guatemala has so far held, and additional fortifications have been made throughout Central America. Two days ago, Lesotho, the last human territory in Africa, fell to the wolves. India has so far successfully held at the Pakistani border, and that’s all for your news. Coming up next, it’s The War on Drugs with  _ Pain,  _ here on 107.1 COE, your radio for the apocalypse.’  _

Stiles lets out a startled laugh. “The Rockies have held.” 

“Your dad’s in the command center, he’s okay.” Derek says, wrapping arms around his waist. “He’s okay.” 

Later, they’re all gathered for dinner, which is spaghetti, sans meatballs, though Evan got creative with the spices and managed to make proper garlic bread for them to have with it. They have water to go with it, which is actually somewhat cool thanks to the fact that it’s well-drawn. 

“So, Stiles, have you finished that book on the Beat Generation?” Peter asks. “I have Kerouac’s collected works for you after that.” 

“Actually, I was wondering if you had anything from Ginsburg? I read  _ Howl,  _ and it was… really incredible.” The teenager replies. 

“You’re in luck. I have a first edition of the book that  _ Howl  _ was published in.” 

Talia chuckles. “Thank God we brought an English professor to the apocalypse with us.” 

“Like you haven’t been reading the California penal code just to kill time.” Cora smirks, pointing at her mother with her fork. “You can’t teach an old lawyer new tricks.” 

The table breaks into good natured laughter at that, and as they eat by candlelight, they all feel just a little bit lighter. That feeling is broken by a sudden and insistent pounding at the door. 

“Please! Help us!” A female voice breaks. “They’re coming!” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Hale, please! It’s Isaac and Erica, you have to let us in!” Isaac cries, desperate.  _ “Please!”  _

Ritsa shakes her head. “We  _ can’t.”  _ She whispers. 

Talia, however, stands with defiance in her eyes. “Evan, be ready to shut and bar the door.” 

“Tals…” Her husband trails, uncertain. 

“Evan,  _ now.”  _

A howl breaks in the distance. 

“Do it!” Stiles barks. “Let them in!” 

Everyone runs to the foyer, and Talia unlocks the various bolts and bars installed since they’ve barricaded the house. She takes a deep breath, before ripping the door open as quickly as she dares. 

Stark sunlight floods the room, blinding everyone, and Erica and Isaac are stumbling into the space. Stiles catches his first glimpse of outside in two weeks, his first breath of fresh air. It’s heaven, and then it is gone as Evan slams the door shut, putting the crossbars back into place and frantically locking the deadbolts. 

For a moment, there’s stunned silence, the only noise being the haggard breathing of Erica and Isaac and the distant howl of the wolves. Then, Erica manages to speak. 

_ “Oh, thank you.”  _ She says, immediately bursting into tears as she throws her arms around Talia. “They… they killed or turned  _ everyone.” _

“Later, sweetheart, later.” She assures the young woman. “Let’s get the two of you cleaned up and fed. We were just having dinner.” 

Erica and Isaac take cold showers, and borrowing clothes from Laura and Derek respectively, and then join the rest of the group, wolfing down their meals in a way that clearly shows they haven’t had regular food for a while. When they’ve finished their food, Talia delicately clears her throat, and addresses the newcomers.

“Would you two be okay explaining what’s happened? How did you guys even make it here?” She asks. 

Erica nods, taking a shaky breath to steady herself. “After the wolves made it to San Francisco, a bunch of us headed for the sheriff station to take shelter. Deputy Parrish took over after Stiles’ dad left, and he set up shelter for us. It was me and my folks, Isaac and Camden, Deputy Clark and her family, and uh… the McCalls.”

Stiles gives a noticeable flinch, but he doesn’t speak. He knows how this story ends. Isaac takes over, patting Erica on her arm. “We were doing pretty okay, but we started running low on food. Jordan and Camden headed across the street to get some food from the deli, and they came back… but they weren’t human.”

“Jesus, Isaac, I’m sorry.” Derek says. 

“They had a pack of about twenty or so with them, and they surrounded the station. Just… just waited for days and days.” He continues. “We were starving, so we made a plan. We were gonna head up to the roof, use the riot gear from the cellar to smoke the wolves away from the station long enough to get into a couple of cars and head… we didn’t know where. East, maybe, towards the mountains.”

“But?” Talia asks.

“They were smarter than that. We used tear gas to get them to clear away from the front of the building, but they looped around to the garage. They were waiting for us. The wolves were on everyone before we could even react.” 

Erica starts speaking, even as a fresh round of tears threatens at her eyes. “I had a gun, so I managed to get a couple of shots off, and we got into a car. I ran over one of them, but the fucking thing used his claws to put a hole in the gas tank. We drove into the Preserve, figuring you guys were either holed up or we could at least use the house for shelter, maybe take one of your cars.”

Derek chuckles. “Nice, you were just gonna steal one of our cars.” 

“We were operating on the assumption you were all dead, or worse. When we saw the boards covering the windows, we knew better.” She replies.

“How are we gonna fit them with the evac?” Evan wonders aloud. “There were already twelve of us, add two more?” 

“Evac?” Isaac asks. “What evac?” 

Stiles cut in to explain. “My dad is a commander at the front. He said that we’d have to sit tight for a month or so, before sending some folks on a rescue mission.”

“They’ll probably come in on a Chinook.” Isaac replies. “The twelve of you alone wouldn’t fit in a Blackhawk, nevermind that they have to bring a squad to protect you while you’re getting aboard. A Chinook can seat sixty, more if you make people sit on the floor.” 

When everyone looks at him with confusion and a bit of awe, he just shrugs. “Cam served in Afghanistan. I was a kid who asked a lot of questions.” 

-☣-

**Day 112**

Erica and Isaac’s presence is a welcomed distraction for twelve people who’ve seen nothing but one another for the last twenty five days. No one asks about their time at the police station, and if it ever comes up, Stiles is the first to leave the room. Eventually, Derek works it up to talk to him about it when they’re in the library by themselves. 

“I know why you don’t wanna talk about the police station, Stiles.” He says. “It’s because of Scott.” 

“Yes, Derek.” Stiles sighs. “I don’t want to hear about my best friend being mauled, possibly to death.” 

Grabbing his hand, Derek tries to console him. “It’s okay. He was like a brother to you, and he’s gone, in one way or another. We’ve all lost plenty of people.” 

“Your best friends are in the house or safe in Louisiana. Mine’s dead or a werewolf.” He snipes. “Your whole family is here, you haven’t exactly lost everything.” 

Derek reels back like he’s been slapped. Taking a steadying breath, he carefully parses his next words. “We’ve been locked in a house with no sunlight for a month. We’re both going a little stir crazy.”

“No shit, Der.” 

“What I’m saying is that we should have this talk when we’re in Colorado after your dad picks us up. If you want to talk about it before then, that’s fine, but I won’t push the issue until we’re safe.” 

“Whatever. Your choice.” 

-☣-

“I heard that little exchange in the library.” Talia says, leaning against the doorway to Derek and Stiles’ room, where her son retreated to after his argument. “Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long.” 

“You expected us to go after one another?” He asks, scoffing in disbelief. “Nice, Ma.” 

Shaking her head, she comes in and sits next to him, the light of the lone candle burning casting long, haunting shadows on the dark blue walls. “I did. Derek, we’ve been locked in here for a damn month, you think there haven’t been fights? I spent a good three days ready to strangle your aunt, and your father and I have gotten into it more than once. Derek, that you’re fighting just means you’re human. How you two deal with the fight is what will determine the strength of your relationship.”

“I just tried to give him someone to talk to he just… shut me right down.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Talia tuts, wrapping her arm around him. “He’s in a worse position than all of us. His father is alone on the front, and now two of your closest friends show up to tell him that his best friend is gone, in one way or another. He’s angry, and he’s grieving. Give him space, he’ll come to you when he’s good and ready.” 

“You’re probably right. I’m just so worried about him, and, you know, he’s right. Here we all are, more or less safe, and he’s got nothing. No wonder he’s angry, our whole family is okay and he’s left to watch.” 

“Stiles is as good as family as you are. He loves you, stupidly so. He was speaking out of hurt, saying things he didn’t mean. Believe me, he doesn’t wish you’d lose everything so you can feel his pain. He’s just lashing out, baby.” 

Just then, a howl breaks from outside. This one is different, though. It’s  _ loud.  _ Loud as Hell, in fact. Like it’s coming from just outside the house itself. More come in the distance. In a matter of minutes, there are more than a dozen wolves outside, from the sounds of it. Mother and son rush downstairs to the living room, finding everyone else gathered there as well. 

“Mom, what’s happening?” Kita frantically asks, clinging to Ritsa. 

“I don’t know, baby.” She replies, wrapping a protective arm. “Talia, where’s the gun?” 

“Study!” The Hale matriarch says, running for the room. Moments later, she returns, a loaded pistol in hand. “Evan, get the keys to the cars. Laura, Cora, Derek, grab the go bags.” She orders. 

The howling outside only becomes more frequent and louder. In the spaces between, the group can faintly hear the sound of growls and snarls, before an unmistakable creak from outside comes. 

_ “The third step on the porch.”  _ Peter whispers.  _ “They know we’re in here.”  _

Talia holds a shaking hand to her lips. For a moment, they listen as the creature paces on the porch outside. There’s a second’s silence, and then the sound of shattering glass and the splintering of wood, their barricade protesting under the force of the wolf’s strike. 

_ “Kitchen, now! We take the side door.”  _ Talia orders. 

They make a break for the side door, but, within seconds, the room is suddenly flooded with stark daylight as three wolves throw their entire bodies at the window, breaking the boards and opening the windows. Kita screams in terror, and, in a flash, one of the creatures is barrelling towards them, wrapping a deformed hand around Erica and yanking her backwards. 

_ “Help me!”  _ She screams in terror. 

Stiles turns around to watch as it holds her, and catches his first up close and personal glimpse of one of the werewolves. He’s tall, and broad like a barn. His clothes are torn and ragged, and soaked in blood. He is covered in hair nearly everywhere but the face, and his fingernails are black, pointed into claws. The wolf’s face is malformed, his brow bones far too defined even as he is missing eyebrows, pinning his face in a perpetual scowl. Hair runs wild down the sides of his cheeks, but stops short of his chin, and his open mouth reveals a set of lethal looking fangs. It is the eyes, however, that haunt him. His eyes are the most brilliant shade of gold Stiles has ever seen, and they are absolutely  _ feral,  _ filled with nothing but rage and bloodlust. 

He takes all of this in in a split second, and then he is gone, rounding the corner into the foyer, only to met with two more wolves, and, to his horror, Stiles recognizes one of them. Even with her face morphed by the virus, he would know Lydia Martin’s strawberry blonde hair anywhere. Without hesitating, Talia raises her gun, putting a bullet into the other wolf’s head before firing again, this time at Lydia’s heart. She falls with a snarl, and clearly survived the shot, but it still gives them time to rush past her. 

Lydia reaches out with one clawed hand, wrapping it around Cora’s ankle and twisting it. The youngest of the three siblings falls down in a heap screaming in agony as they all hear the telltale crunch of a broken ankle.  _ “Fuck! Keep going!”  _ She yells. 

Ahead of them, Isaac screams as another wolf bursts in through the boarded up door to the backyard, grabbing him. Two more pour in from another window, and they are on top of Evan and Kita before any of them can react. Screams fill the manor in seconds, intermingling with the howls and snarls of the werewolves. Ritsa charges for the shewolf holding her daughter, only to be struck on the head by the same one that now holds a desperately struggling Erica, knocking out Talia’s younger sister in a single blow. 

“Evan!” Talia desperately cries, raising her gun at the wolf that holds her husband. Instantly, the creature uses him as a shield. 

“No, Talia! Leave me behind!” He orders. 

Another wolf comes in through an already broken window, and this one simply charges for Peter. They can all spot the brilliant crimson glow of the alpha’s eyes, and Peter bellows in shock as he sinks his teeth deep into his arm, sending a gout of blood across the kitchen floor. Standing up, Stiles gasps as he recognizes this one, as well. The alpha is Gerard Argent, Allison’s grandfather. 

Gerard stares at them all for a moment before slinking into the dining room where Evan has been dragged off. They can all hear his desperate pleas, which fall on deaf ears as an agonized scream tells them he has been bitten. At the opposite end of the kitchen, Laura is frantically dismantling the barricade on the kitchen door, the small mudroom flooded with the six remaining members of the family. 

Laura is at the door, and Derek and Stiles are immediately behind her, with Gwen and Talia standing between them and the wolves. The baby is screaming in Gwen’s arms. Turning to Stiles, Gwen passes him her screaming son, pressing a tearful kiss to her child. 

“Take the baby, keep him safe.  _ Please.”  _ She instructs. 

“Gwen, no!” 

Too late. She breaks across the kitchen, grabbing a huge carving knife from the counter, and charges to nearest wolf, sinking the blade directly into his throat and pulling it back. The wolf falls to his knees, choking on his own blood, and dies seconds later. Immediately, two wolves are on her, restraining her. Gwen frantically struggles against her captors, only for Gerard to return in that moment. One of the wolves forces her arm to extend, and the alpha bites down, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh of her forearm.  _ Finally,  _ Laura manages to get the last of the barricades on the door down, throwing it open and sprinting out into the September light. 

The fresh air is disorienting on all of them after twenty five days locked in a house, and their eyes all struggle to adjust to the brilliant light of the late summer sun. This disorientation costs them as two more wolves grab Laura immediately. 

_ “No!”  _ The three others cry out at once, and Talia raises the six round pistol, squeezing its trigger. Nothing happens. She squeezes again. 

“ _ Fuck,  _ it’s jammed!” She curses. Looking back at her son, and then to the werewolf dragging her daughter back towards the now-silent house, she throws Derek a set of keys. “Get to Pyramid Lake. Take the Camaro.” She instructs. 

_ “Mom! Help!”  _ Laura bellows, desperately fighting against her captor. 

“No!” Derek yells. “Mom, don’t!” 

“Go! I love you both!” Talia yells, throwing aside the useless gun, before rushing at the creature holding her daughter. The two teenagers watch in numb horror as she tackles the wolf, sending all three of them tumbling to the ground. “Laura, run!” She screams. 

It takes only a few seconds for the wolf to overpower Talia, holding her arms in a pin as it snarls into her face. Laura breaks into a dead sprint towards Derek and Stiles as they are loading into the car, but the other wolf, which was previously heading back into the house, catches sight, and barrels towards her, crossing the yard in seconds. She’s just feet from the Camaro when, with a feral roar, the beast jumps, grabbing her bag and yanking her backwards, pulling the feet out from under her. Laura goes sprawling onto the blacktop, and immediately she’s being dragged backwards. 

_ “Laura!”  _ Derek cries out, tears now trailing his face. 

“Derek, we have to go!” Stiles yells, himself crying. “Let’s go, there’s nothing we can do!” 

In the one bit of luck they’ve had since this nightmare began, the car turns over on the first start. Derek rips it into reverse, backing up onto the lawn before turning again, and then tearing out of the driveway, onto the private road leading out of the clearing. Looking back through the mirrors, Derek’s last sight of his family and his home are his mother and older sister being hauled back into the house, frantically struggling. 

The baby is still crying, and Stiles, despite tears of his own, is doing his best to calm him. “It’s okay, Alex, it’s okay.” He murmurs. “We’re safe, little man, we’re okay.” Finally, the wails stop as they reach the edge of the Preserve. They sit at the intersection, idling for a moment, before Derek turns to his companion and speaks. 

“What now?” He croaks. 

“We have to go to my house. My dad gave me the key to the gun cabinet before he left, it has a shotgun and two pistols, and plenty of ammo. We need weapons. We also need to raid the nearest Walmart.” Stiles replies. 

Derek gives him a confused look. “Walmart?” 

“Alex needs a car seat, diapers, and baby food. G-” His throat catches at the mention of Derek’s aunt. “Gwen had most of the baby food in her go bag, we only have a couple jars each, same with diapers, and the only car seat was in Peter’s Elantra. Not to mention there’s only seven meals in each bag, and we don’t know how long it’ll take to get to the depot.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t head there. What if we went to Coe Forest, we know they have a satellite phone there.” Derek suggests. 

“No, we don’t know if they’d even let us in. Our safest bet is to get to the depot in Pyramid Lake. Dad emailed us instructions on how to work the comms tower there before the lights went out and your mom printed copies in all of our bags. Besides, the woods could be crawling with wolves.” 

“I just… what are we doing?” He asks. 

Stiles reaches over with his free hand, grabbing Derek’s. “We’re surviving. We’ll make it, Der, you just gotta have faith. We’ll make it. Now, let’s get to my house and get those guns.” 

-☣-

The drive through Beacon Hills is eerily silent. The streets are surprisingly empty, spare the occasional body, both human and wolf. They pass through what was once a neighborhood of townhomes, all them now burned to the ground, four or five whole blocks of buildings reduced to ash. At one point, Derek has to take them through downtown, and Stiles flinches at the sight of the police station, but thankfully there are no live wolves to be seen. 

Getting into the suburban area of the town, they can see where people boarded themselves into their homes, and all too many of the houses have broken windows, overrun barricades, and bloodstains on the walls. Finally, the boys reach the Stilinski residence, which is thankfully intact. A quick check of the doors and windows shows no one, wolf or human, has been there, and they slip inside, with Stiles heading right for the gun cabinet in his father’s room. 

“Take Alex, please.” He says, handing the baby to Derek. 

Pulling the key from his bag, Stiles opens the container, loading up each weapon with bullets and shells. He pulls out two holsters, and each of the boys puts one on, and then passes Derek one of the handguns before holstering the other, and then slinging the shotgun over his back. The two of them then make their way downstairs, where Stiles stops, staring at a photograph of himself and his parents. He can’t be more than five or six in it, sitting on Claudia’s lap and smiling like the goober child he was, with John wrapping his arms around both of them. Wordlessly, he takes it off of the wall pops the glass out of it, but leaves the photo in the frame and slides it into his backpack. 

“Stiles?” Derek asks, balancing Alex on his hip. “Anything else?” 

“Just one thing.” He replies, heading towards a stack of papers on the kitchen counter, digging through them before holding up his prize with a triumphant grin. “Road map. We need to plan a route to the depot. It’s northwest of Pyramid Lake, southeast of Honey Lake, and due west of Calneva, which means it’s probably right here.” He says, taking a red sharpie and circling a location. 

“We know the highways are mostly impassable, so we have to plot around them as much as we can.” Derek adds. “The question is, what way do we go?” 

“Well, realistically, we have two options. Either way, we have to go through the Central Valley, but we can either cut directly across the Valley and go through Nevada, or we move northeast by skirting the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.”

“What way is safest, though?” He asks. “We could go between the Bay and Sacramento and ride the coast up and over, how about that?” 

“I want to stay as far from the Bay as we can, and going between two of the largest cities is gonna open us up to attack from wolves  _ and  _ people.” Stiles replies. “I think we should skirt south of San Jose, take Yosemite through to Nevada and then ride the desert roads north before we cut back.”

Derek nods. “Draw it up. We’ll hit Walmart next.” 

-☣-

The Walmart is, by some miracle, empty, and mostly still stocked. They immediately make their way to the baby section, putting together a car seat/carrier by the dim glow of the store’s somehow still functional emergency lights. Likewise, the boys grab and stock a diaper bag, and load up several boxes of diapers into a cart. They also grab a pale blue blanket and a stuffed dog for Alex, who immediately cuddles up to the stuffed animal inside his carrier. 

They steer well clear of the produce section, which reeks of rotting fruit, as well as the countless pounds of spoiled meat. Stiles manages to find a few boxes of fruit pouches for Alex, and Derek retrieves plenty of canned goods for the two of them, as well as a few packages of bottled water. They stock up their bags with first aid supplies, including powerful pain meds from the pharmacy. 

Just as they’re ready to leave, Derek spots a display for winter clothes, and walks over, holding a heavy jacket in his hands. “Maybe we should grab some winter stuff, we don’t know how long it’ll take to get there, and you know the desert gets cold at night.” 

“Der, it’s September, we’ll be at the depot in a week or two at most.” Stiles says. 

“Look, I just… let’s just grab them to be safe. There could be snow in the mountains already.” 

He gnaws on his lip for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. Safe than sorry, and all that.” 

The two of them depart after that, putting the diapers, clothes, and boxes in the back. They put Alex’s car seat directly behind the passenger’s seat, and fill the rest of the backseat with food and water. Derek turns on the radio before tuning it to to 107.1, where they catch the tail end of a song  before Hayden’s crisp voice comes across the airwaves. 

_ ‘That was  _ Gold Rush  _ by Death Cab for Cutie. It’s time for your daily dose of news and global affairs. The wolves have made it as far south as the Panama Canal, which is the new holding line for humanity, meaning that the United States remains as the last holdout in North America. In Asia, the Chinese capital has moved from Beijing to Sanya on the island of Hainan following the fall of the city, and the Taiwanese military today sank a cruise ship full of refugees from the mainland. South Korea continues to hold at the DMZ, and Japan today announced new rationing rules as the islands attempt to recover from their loss of most food imports. Locally, there is no news from the Rocky Mountain Line or the POM Line. That’s all for news. Up next, MUNA with  _ I Know A Place,  _ here on 107.1 COE, your radio for the apocalypse.’  _

“He’s still okay.” Stiles whispers to himself. 

“He’ll come get us, you know that.” Derek replies. “Let’s get on the road.”

-☣-

**Day 117**

“You know, I’ve never actually been here.” Stiles says, looking up at the great mountain known as the Half Dome, in the very heart of Yosemite National Park. “We wanted to go for my ninth birthday, but… Mom got sick.” 

“I was very little when we went, I barely remember it.” Derek adds.

“It’s beautiful.” 

The last five days have been exceedingly difficult in many ways. Making their way across the Central Valley was a bitch, as the whole thing was crawling with werewolves. They had to stop to refuel only once, but Alex chose that moment to begin crying, and the sound had the attention of a nearby pack. In the end, Derek and Stiles were forced to gun down all seven of the wolves, desperately piercing a car’s gas tank to steal the fuel and put it into the Camaro. They were forced to spend two days in a barricaded rest stop after another pack cornered them there, but were unable to get into the structure due to its heavy metal doors and small windows. Nonetheless, they waited outside for a whole forty eight hours before finally losing interest. There were other things, too, countless redirects and wrong turns, forced to navigate around towns which were clogged with cars, wolves, or both, and trying to avoid the highways as much as they could. 

The only other people to two men saw was in a car headed opposite them outside of Merced, at the heart of the Valley. The green Range Rover slowed before stopping, and Derek did the same with the Camaro. Inside was a man in his thirties, as well as a woman the same age, and two little kids, as well as what looked like a cat. He could see food stocked up high in the trunk. The man was the first to get out of his car, and Derek did the same. The woman followed suit, as did Stiles. 

“Hi.” The man said. “I’m Ty, this is my wife Claire.” 

“I’m Derek, this is Stiles.” He replied. 

“Where you kids headed?” Ty asked. 

“Yosemite. You?”

“Monterey. We have a boat there, the kinda yacht that can make real long trips. We’re gonna head for the Galapagos Islands. Were you guys planning to go through Merced?” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, we were. Is it bad in there?” 

Claire spoke this time. “Horrible. Infected everywhere, more than we’ve ever seen.” 

“Shit.” Derek cursed. “We’ll have to cut south.” 

Ty and Claire both looked at one another, as well as peered into the back of the Camaro where Alex was in his car seat, fast asleep, before the husband spoke. “Maybe you two should come with us.” He suggested. “The yacht will have the room, and you guys have a baby. We can get you away from this.” 

This time, it was Stiles and Derek who took a look at each other before Stiles spoke. “You’re very kind, but my father is at the Rocky Mountain Line, he’s a commander on the front. We’re headed for a communications station to signal for an evac.” 

“The line is still there?” Claire asked, shocked. “How can you be sure?” 

“Tune your radio to 107.1, there’s somebody still broadcasting. They have a satellite phone they use to keep in touch with people outside the quarantine. They update the news every few hours.” Derek explained. “Look, we should all get going, but… you guys be safe. You seem like good people. I hope you make it to the Galapagos. Thanks for warning about Merced, too.”

“You’re welcome.” Ty said, offering a handshake to the two of them. “You guys be safe, too. I hope your dad comes and gets you the Hell away from all of this. Good luck.” 

“Good luck.” They echoed back, before getting into their respective cars and heading on their ways.

Stiles drove the last stretch, getting them around the mess in Merced by going through a medium sized town called Chowchilla, where they only saw a couple of packs of wolves, and from there it was a good straight shot along a long road known as White Rock Road before they made their way into the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Now, in Yosemite Valley, they’ve stopped only for a moment to admire the view.

As evening sets upon them, Derek manages to find a small road that leads toward an isolated cabin on Boundary Hill. It’s a long, winding drive up a steep mountainside, but the location is worth it. On the gentle slope of the hill rests a small log cabin, overlooking the entire valley in a stunning vista. The golden hour is just giving way to twilight proper, and the western sky is lit up in orange and pink in a way that neither of them have seen in a long time. Stiles pulls the phone out of his pocket, which he had packed into his go bag and charged using a car charger, and snaps a photo of the wide expanse before them, leaning against Derek and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“So much death, and yet…” He trails off. 

“The world is still beautiful.” Derek finishes. “And so are you.” 

“Flatterer.” Stiles smirks, kissing him again. “Let’s get this one inside, we have to head out tomorrow. For now, though, I want to enjoy a warm bed for the first time in a week.” 

The two of them spend plenty of time enjoying the bed, but sleep is hardly on either of their minds. The next morning, with a reluctance to leave that weighs on both of them, they head out, but not before Stiles manages to snap a few more pictures, including a shot of Derek in profile, sitting on a rock outcropping as he eats from a can of peaches, backlit by the brilliant morning sun. 

-☣-

**Day 121**

Nevada, with its flat landscapes and empty stretches of road, proves a much easier time navigating than the hills and mountains of California. Once they clear the eastern foothills, Stiles and Derek are well on their way through hundreds of miles of empty desert highway, northbound on the 338 with plans to divert east around Carson City and Reno before making a hard turn west at Pyramid Lake and heading for the depot. 

“Smell that, Der?” Stiles asks, wrinkling his nose. “Someone filled his diaper.” 

Derek sighs, shaking his head in fondness and exasperation. “I’ll pull over, it’s about lunchtime anyway, and we need to change drivers.” 

Once he’s changed Alex on the trunk of the Camaro and flung his soiled diaper into the ditch on the side of the road, Stiles holds him up, where the baby offers him a toothy smile. He smiles back balancing him on his hip. “Come on, little man, let’s get you some food.” After giving him a fruit pouch to suck down in his car seat and out of the unforgiving desert sun, Derek joins Stiles in leaning against the hood of the the car and feasting on a cold can of ravioli. 

“You know, for all the apocalypse movies I’ve seen, there are two things they never prepared me for about the real apocalypse.” He comments. 

“One of them being how awkward it is to take a dump without running water?” Stiles asks, shuddering at the memory of many a roadside indignity. 

“Three things, then.” Derek replies. “The other two are just how fucking dark and  _ quiet  _ it is.” 

The other teen nods. “I know. You get so used to the hum of electricity, the sound of cars, just the constant background noise, and when it’s gone, it’s like a part of you you didn’t even know was there is missing.”

“It is nice to be able to see the stars at night, though. I mean,  _ really  _ see them. I never saw the Milky Way before we got on this trip.” 

“Yeah. Hey, knock on wood, but it’s been, what, two days since we’ve even heard any wolves?” Stiles asks. “I keep waiting for a pack to come from out of nowhere and catch us off guard.” 

“Me, too.” Derek agrees. “But we’re lucky. They mostly stick to the inhabited places, and they don’t like the desert anymore than most people.” 

“Small blessings.” 

They finish their meals, throwing the cans into the same ditch as Alex’s diaper, and then make their way northwards, reaching the turnoff to avoid Carson City just as the sun is setting. They find a small roadside motel with an office that has a bedroom above it, and agree to pull over for the night there. The space is small, and stiflingly hot, but there’s an old metal refrigerator that takes the both of them to move so they can block the door, and the windows are all too small for anything bigger than a young child to crawl through. 

They strip Alex down to just his diaper and themselves to the nude, and sleep on top of the covers of the old queen sized mattress, touching as little as possible in the cramped space. Just as they’re drifting off, Stiles whispers. 

“Goodnight, Derek. I love you.” 

For a moment, the words jolt Derek wide awake. It’s the first time either of them have used the L word, but the feeling lasts only a split second. As tiredness again reigns in his mind, this time joined by a deep joy, he replies. 

“I love you, too.” 

They all sleep peacefully through the night. 

-☣-

**Day 123**

Pyramid Lake is a surprisingly large body of water for a desert lake. Thirty miles long and nine miles across at its widest, the boys stop for a moment to refuel along its shores, near the enormous triangular tufa that gives the lake its name. Alex, for his part, has spent most of the day in a bad mood, fussy and prone easily to crying. None of the music on Stiles’ phone, nor his stuffed dog, not even funny faces from Stiles can seem to improve his mood. 

“Fussy baby.” Derek murmurs, bouncing him lightly in his arms. “What’s the matter, Alex? How come you’re in such a bad mood?” For his trouble, he just gets an angry sounding grumble. 

“Car’s fueled up. We should get going.” Stiles calls. “We can be there by nightfall.” 

“Hear that, little dude?” He asks, mustering as much fake excitement as he can, even as frustrated with the baby as he is. “We’re almost there! We’re gonna be somewhere with food, water, and hot showers!” 

The mention of a good hot shower is enough to lift Derek’s spirits just a little, and he feels a flicker of hope as he eases Alex into his car seat and takes the passenger’s seat, since it’s Stiles’ turn to drive. 

Stiles takes the final leg of their long journey with as much speed as he can, ripping down the desert highways at nearly ninety. He’d go faster, but with Alex in the backseat not yet even seven months old, he doesn’t dare. It’s the middle of the golden hour when they  _ finally  _ reach the edge of the depot. There’s a small town surrounding the edge of it, which is completely deserted. 

“We have to get to the airfield, that’s where the communications tower is. We can radio from there. It’ll be a couple of hours, but it’s a tower, we’ll be able to sit tight.” Stiles says as he drives along rows and rows of bunkers and abandoned military vehicles. “After a shower, what’s the first thing you’re doing?” He asks, smiling at Derek. 

“I’m going to McDonald’s and getting as many twenty count chicken nuggets as they’ll let me purchase.” He easily replies. “You?” 

“I am going to binge the Hell out of Netflix. Even the shittiest shows and movies. Nothing will be safe from my greedy eyes.” He vows solemnly. 

Stiles makes the turn that finally brings the airfield into sight, and Derek’s eyes search for the sight of the tower, but he can’t see it. Swallowing the nerves in his stomach, he blames  it on the heat mirage radiating from the desert floor and the glint of the sun. They  _ are  _ driving west, facing right at it, after all. Stiles says something to himself too quietly for him to hear, before he starts driving down the runway as fast as the Camaro can, Alex in the back be damned. Halfway down the long stretch of blacktop, Derek realizes why he couldn’t see the tower in the distance. 

Only the base of the communications tower remains. The rest of it is spread out in a long field of debris stretching towards the east, great twisted chunks of metal and huge pieces of brick wall scattered across the desert floor, with what are clearly the burned remnants of the airplane that struck the tower on takeoff intermingled in the rubble. There’s a thin layer of sand covering everything, and no fires burn. The tower has been gone for a while, possibly as long as when the original Q Zone fell. 

“No, no, no, no…” Stiles mutters to himself, even as he slows them down, coming to a stop and tearing out of the vehicle as fast as he can. For a moment he just stands there, taking in the ruins before him, before he lets out an anguished cry. 

_ “FUCK!”  _ He screams as loud as he possibly can, falling to his knees. 

Derek steps out of the car, walking towards the base of the tower. He kicks in the metal doors, before stepping into the roofless lower chamber, hoping beyond hope that some form of communications tech survived, even a shortwave radio,  _ something.  _ Instead, all he is greeted with is charred bodies and a cloud of choking soot. When the plane struck the building, fire consumed everything, and everyone, inside of it. Coming back out, he finds Stiles still on his knees, tears now running down his face. 

“What do we do now?” He chokes out. “We can’t go to the line, they’ll shoot us on sight.” 

“We go to plan B.” Derek replies, trying to keep himself from crying. 

Stiles scoffs. “There  _ is no  _ plan B, Der!” 

“Then we make one!” He shoots back. “We figure something out, we adapt. We could try going to another airport, see if we can’t get a signal out through there.” 

“Let’s just stay here. There’s years of supplies, guns, ammo, MREs, all of it. We can use one of the bunkers.” Stiles suggests, now standing and trying to calm himself. 

“We can’t. Those buildings have no windows and no ventilation.” 

He nods, now in full planning mode. “Okay, let’s think. Where can we go that we know has working communication?” 

They look at each other for a split second, each reaching the same realization. “COE.” They say simultaneously. 

-☣-

**Day 181**

They found the place by accident. Derek had taken a wrong turn as they crossed over the mountains, and they wound up parked outside a log cabin near the summit of a peak, deep in the forest and completely isolated. There were no cars parked outside, and, indeed, no signs of anyone. Stiles had suggested they stop just to raid the place, possibly spend the night, and Derek agreed, only to make a profound discovery. 

They took a step into the house, after finding the door unlocked, and the place clearly hadn’t been visited in months. Inside, it was dark, and the air was stagnant, and a thin layer of dust covered every surface. What caught their eye, however, was the electronic display on the microwave. It was  _ on.  _ It actually displayed the time. Hesitantly, Stiles had moved towards a lightswitch on the wall. Like he was afraid the thing would bite him, he’d closed his eyes and quickly as possible flipped it up. Brilliant light flooded the room all at once as the lights came on. 

“Holy shit.” Derek swore. “Stiles, what’s happening? Why does this place have power?” 

“That’s why, Derek.” He’d responded, pointing out behind the house, where a huge set of solar panels sat in a clearing on the mountainside. They faced south, gathering as much sunlight as they could from their position. 

Immediately, they decided to stay. Getting settled in wasn’t easy, they’d had to go up and down the the mountain a few times to get things like a crib for Alex, and to resupply on diapers. They’d also had to get new clothes for him as he outgrew the ones they brought with them from Beacon Hills. As winter set in, and it set in fast and early in the high peaks, they had to rely on the generator in the basement as backup during the long stretches of cloudy weather and frequent snowstorms. 

Now, it is late November, and Stiles is standing at the gas stove, cooking up MREs from the depot, of which they took hundreds. Derek is feeding Alex in the high chair, scooping Cheerios into his mouth with a spoon. Outside, snowflakes fall fat and heavy, but the cabin came equipped with a fireplace and geothermal heating, as well. They’d found the property information in a desk upstairs, which explained why the place was so well prepared. It was an apocalypse cabin, built in a region that would have minimal fallout in the event of nuclear war, and designed to be self-sufficient with regards to power and water for years, if necessary. The deed listed the name  _ Adrian Raines  _ as the owner, and Stiles is sure to give thanks to Adrian from time to time, especially when he takes a hot shower. 

“Babe, dinner.” He says to Derek, plating the meals and putting them on the island. The cabin doesn’t have an actual dining room, but it doesn’t really matter. They sit down, enjoying the meal as best as they can, considering MREs are infamously bad, but it’s still better than cold cans of Chef Boyardee. After dinner, they put Alex down for bed and sit down in the living room. Stiles hooks his phone up to a Bluetooth speaker that they found, and soft music fills the room. It almost feels… normal. 

“I finished plotting the route we’ll take to the radio station come spring.” He says. “Forget safety, this is about speed.” 

“Agreed.” Derek replies. 

Stiles continues. “If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll come back here.” 

“We have a few months’ worth of food, not to mention we can probably swing a trip back to the depot and restock if needed. We should also talk about Alex.” He says. 

“What about him?” 

“He’s already talking, and soon he’ll be walking. Stiles, at this point, we are the only parents he’s ever known, and we’re sixteen.” 

The other teenager nods. “You’re worried about raising him.” 

“How do we teach him to read, to write, to survive?” Derek asks. “How do we be parents?” 

“We do it as best as we can.” Stiles says, resolute. “We make sure he can take care of himself, and that he’s loved.” 

-☣-

That night, for the first time since they left the Central Valley, they hear the howls of the wolves in the distance. Derek sits up stock straight in their bed, shaking Stiles awake.

“They’re starting to move out of their ranges. The food is drying up.” He says. 

Stiles nods, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “They’ve picked off the people and the wildlife, they were bound to leave the population centers eventually.” 

Derek leans down, kissing him softly. “What are we gonna do?” 

“We move Alex in here, and be ready to run at a moment’s notice.” 

The next morning, they do just that. While Stiles gives Alex his breakfast, Derek moves the crib out of the bedroom. He checks their weapons, making sure they’re clean and loaded, and places a pistol on each end table. The shotgun is placed against the wall on Stiles’ side of the bed. Later, they relocate a couple of weeks’ worth of food and diapers to the trunk of the Camaro and restock their go bags. When they decide it’s time for bed, Stiles takes the initiative to slide the standing dresser in front of the door, figuring it’ll at least give them a few seconds to grab their weapons and defend themselves against any intruders, human or otherwise. It’s the worst mistake he ever makes. 

-☣-

**Day 182**

The sound of shattering glass wakes them both up. There’s a massive, heavy thud as something lands on the floor of the bedroom, and a sudden drop in temperature from the broken window. Immediately, Alex begins bawling in his crib, and Stiles and Derek shoot up, roused from their sleep, and, to their horror, they see a massive, hair-covered figure with burning yellow eyes. 

The wolf jumps on top of both of them, sending them skittering to the floor in a pile of limbs. A second and third impact fill the room, as well as the sound of snarls. 

“Derek!” Stiles yells, even as he frantically kicks at the wolf trying to pin them both down. 

Derek reaches for the shotgun leaning against the wall, but a hand grabs him by the scruff of the neck and yanks him backwards like a ragdoll, pulling him out of his entanglement with Stiles and pressing him against the solid mass of a body that he can feel is female, holding his arms so tightly he can’t move them at all. The first wolf had managed to drag Stiles to his feet as well, and they’re both jerked, dragged across the room where the alpha stands. 

She might’ve been beautiful, once, cocoa-colored skin is covered in dirt and her hair is knotted around countless twigs and leaves. Her eyes burn like embers in the darkness of the room, and she stands menacingly over the cradle where Alex is bawling, her twisted face making some horrible imitation of a smile. 

“No, you leave him alone!” Derek pleads. “He’s just a fucking  _ baby!”  _

“Get away from him!” Stiles adds. “I’ll fucking kill you, mongrel!”

The fanged smile on the alpha’s face only gets wider as she reaches into the crib, pulling up the screaming child. For a moment, she just inspects Alex, running her clawed fingers through his dark hair, looking in fascination at his face, even as he screams right into hers. Then, without even hesitating, she brings his shoulder into her mouth, and bites down. Alex screams even louder as the terror becomes pain.

_ “DE-EK!”  _ The little boy screams for his older cousin, still unable to pronounce his Rs. 

_ “No!”  _ Both Derek and Stiles cry out in anguish. 

With surprising gentleness, the alpha puts Alex in the floor, and marches over to Derek, locking her crimson eyes into his kaleidoscopic ones. He seethes at her, and a sound from deep within his chest makes itself known as he spits directly into her face. She flinches at the gesture, and then roars into his face, before grabbing his wrist from the wolf restraining him and clamping down so hard he feels both the bones of his forearm snap under the pressure of her jaws. He screams out, falling to the floor as he’s unceremoniously dropped, and the alpha makes her way to Stiles. 

Like she did with Derek, she inspects him for a moment, leaning in close and taking a deep breath in, scenting him. A deep rumble comes from within her chest, and she smiles that same horrid grin at him. 

“Pack.” She forces out, but the word sounds wrong, and Stiles is horrified. The wolves are feral, they’re animals. They can’t  _ speak.  _

More gently than she did with Derek, the alpha sinks her teeth into the meat of his arm, and Stiles yells in agony as white hot pain floods his entire left side. Almost instantly, the wolf restraining him releases, and he barely catches himself on the end table, and that’s when he sees it. Thanking whatever Gods will hear that he’s right handed, Stiles grabs the pistol from the table and fires off a round, sending the contents of the alpha’s skull all over the pale walls of the bedroom. The other two wolves don’t even have a chance to react to the death of their leader before they are following her as shoots the one that was holding him, and then the one that held Derek.

“Told you I’d kill you.” He spits. 

Dropping the weapon, Stiles rushes over to where Alex is still screaming on the floor, gathering him into his arms and shushing him, even as the child bleeds profusely from the bite mark on his shoulder. He makes his way over to Derek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Can you stand?” He asks, and Derek gives a shaky nod. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He replies.  _ “Fuck.” _

“You’re okay, baby.” Stiles says to Alex, bouncing the still inconsolable child on his hip. “Sit down on the bed, Der.” 

Derek is surprised by just how calm he is, considering he knows he’s infected. He’s seen what he’ll become, and yet he can’t find more than a dim flicker of concern for it.

“Stiles…” He begins. “I remember what we said back in Beacon Hills. What I promised you.” 

“No.” The reply is immediate and final. “No, that was different. We have to think of Alex. I won’t…  _ kill  _ him,” He chokes out. “I won’t leave you alone in this. We have to take care of him, even… even if means we do so as monsters. The only question is, what now?”

“We wait. It’ll be a few hours before we turn.”

“Derek, listen. I want you to know, whatever happens next… I love you.” Stiles says, taking hold of his hand.

He smiles wanly, taking Stiles’ hand and kissing it. “I love you, too, Stiles. No matter what we become, that won’t change.” 

-☣-

**Day ?**

The tan one woke up first. The light was just filtering in through the trees with dawn, and when he did, he found he could see, hear, and smell  _ everything.  _ He could smell the blood and brains of the dead wolves around them, and the scents of his mate and the pup, as well. What reigned supreme in his mind, however, was the feeling of pack, of connection. It was like a magnet, drawing him ever southward, the strongest urge he’d ever felt before. 

The pale one and the pup came to shortly after. The tan one’s mate came up, running a clawed hand over his face before nuzzling against him, butting his head against his chin and letting out a subvocal purr. The tan one responded in kind, scent-marking his mate and matching pitch with his purrs and growls. Instinctually, he knew his mate felt the same pull southward. When the pup roused, rising onto unsteady feet and taking his first steps, he knew they were ready. 

They jumped out of the window into the snow below. Their bodies were all warm, and the winter chill could not penetrate them. The tan one held the pup in his arms for the jump, and then placed him so that he sat on his shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck. 

The pale one caught the scent first, carrying faintly on the wind, and took off like a shot into the tree line. It was too easy for his mate to follow, tracing him by scent alone. There was a mutilated cry from not far ahead, and then silence. From across the mate bond, the tan one could feel the other’s satisfaction. He’d taken down a large deer, enough to comfortably feed all of them.

After they all tore into the flesh of the deer, the pale one gathered the pup into his arms and deferred to his mate. They set out down the mountainside, heading ever southward, heading for home and the pack that waited there. 

-☣-

At some point along the journey, they met humans. The tan one saw the weapons in their hands, heard their heartbeats, could smell their body odor. They were so far the humans could barely make them out, but the wolves could see them crystal clear. He could hear them speak.

“Pack, in the distance. What you wanna do?” One asked. 

The three of them stopped, staring at the distant figures and their weapons. The pale one probed across the bond to his mate, suggesting they run if needed. The pup was what mattered, and the tan one agreed. 

“They have a baby…” Another human said. “Let ‘em be. They’re going opposite of us, anyway.” 

They kept going southward. They made pains to avoid the large towns where the large packs were fighting over food and territory, keeping to the forests as best as they could. The pale one was an excellent hunter, able to run fast even for a wolf, and he could take down animals double, even three times his size if needed. He’d catch squirrels and rabbits for the pup, and share a fawn carcass with his mate. 

The tan one, for his part, had an amazing nose. He could smell danger, human or otherwise, coming for literally miles if the wind were favorable, and he could easily spot the best hiding places for them. They slept caves and behind frozen waterfalls, anywhere secluded. There were only two of them and a pup, and they were passing through the turf of packs dozens strong. If it came to a fight, they would lose. Being separated from their pack was constant anxiety, and the further south they went, the more strongly they felt the pull homewards. They could feel their pack, their alpha and her strength, and knew they were all waiting for them, but it’s winter, and trudging through the snow takes time. 

The pup has to be carried, because even if he can walk, he’s so small that the snow is taller than him. Then, there is the matter of the full moon. There’s already been two since they started walking south, and another is fast approaching. They don’t make any progress on those nights, as the pull of the moon is so much stronger than the still-distant bonds of pack, and they run rampant, chasing each other through the snowy woods or down the long stretches of highway, howling and playing, their cries joining others in a brilliant chorus under the vastness of the winter night sky. 

Each morning, they wake up in a tangle of limbs, the pale one and the tan one folded protectively around the pup. They’ll relieve themselves, and then set out, following only the pull of pack. They aren’t in the mountains anymore, and the forests have lost most of their thickness. At this point, they take the chance and walk through the towns. They can run far and fast on the flat ground of the valley, and it seems, that, for the most part, the packs have stopped fighting. While they were hiding in caves and travelling in complicated routes to avoid the fighting, the battles stopped. There were winners and losers, and some sort of equilibrium was reached. 

-☣-

**Day ?**

The third full moon of their journey comes as expected. The pale one snatches three bear cubs from their den for them to eat in preparation for the night ahead. Even in the stark light of day, they can all feel the tug of the moon on their minds. Soon, they will be slaves to its light and their instincts. The tan one conveys some sense of urgency across the bond to his mate. They should cover as much ground as they can, they’re not going to make much progress tomorrow. Moon exhaustion will keep them sedentary pretty much the entire day, and that’ll cost them travel time. The pale one agrees. 

Sunset comes far too soon for either of their liking, but they’re in a pretty good spot. There aren’t any other wolves nearby, and they haven’t seen hide nor tail of a human in a week. They’ll be alone, and, more importantly, they’ll be  _ safe.  _ The pup is eager, hopping out of the tan one’s arms and running ahead as best as he can, though that means he just falls down into the snow drifts. He pops his head up out of the white powder, his little golden eyes burning like twins suns through the cloud of snow that covers his face, and he bares his teeth in some animal imitation of a smile. 

The two adult wolves chuff at the sight of his ridiculous smile, and the tan one nuzzles against his mate, licking up the edge of one pointed earlobe in affection. The pale one returns the display in kind, until they break apart as the pup goes running ahead of them, tiny growls coming from him as he pounces on, and misses, a squirrel. The clouds on the eastern horizon give away, and then the moon catches their eyes. Two pairs of yellow eyes meet, and they fall into the siren song of their planet’s companion. It feels like coming home.

-☣-

Awareness comes back to him in increments. Alien words bend their way through his mind, and the tan one shakes off the heavy, sluggish feeling the moon has left him with. Wait… words. He has a name. What is it? He could’ve sworn he had a name, but it just won’t come to him. Maybe Stiles knows it. 

_ Stiles.  _

Derek. His name is Derek. His eyes fly open, and Derek looks down at himself. The fur, the claws, all of it, is gone. Then, as if on command, it comes back to him. He watches in rapt fascination as the claws grow, and, when he focuses again, recede away to blunt, human nails. He turns his head to where Stiles sleeps in the bed of pine needles beneath the wide bough of the ancient tree they bedded down under. Like Derek, his wolfish features are gone, and he looks beautiful. He’s covered in dirt, his shirt was torn off weeks ago, and his jeans hang in rags around his legs, but by God, he is  _ beautiful.  _ Alex, naked as the day he was born, is cuddled against his side, and he’s human too.

It all comes crashing back to him. The attack at the cabin, their plans to go to the radio station and radio for evacuation from there, all the memories of his life, the life he had before this nightmare began, come back, and the force of it brings tears to his eyes. Swallowing his emotions, Derek lays a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and shakes gently. When those beautiful, whiskey colored eyes come open in confusion, he speaks, slowly and deliberately.

“Stiles.”

-☣-

**Day 288**

The first priority, Derek and Stiles agree, is getting Alex into some clothes. They track their scents back to the road, and then begin going south. 

“De-ek.” Alex whines. “Cold.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” He replies, but he has nothing to wrap him in. As it is, both he and Stiles are stuck in only ragged pairs of jeans. It seems that, when they were wolfed-out, they didn’t care or need their clothes, but now that they’ve  _ somehow  _ shifted back? They definitely need them. 

After a few miles on the road, they come across a Cadillac pulled over on the shoulder. It’s unlocked, and the keys are still in the ignition. Stiles crawls into the driver’s seat and whispers to himself, just once.  _ “Please.”  _

The car turns over, and it has half a tank. They quickly warm up inside, and drive along the road, which thankfully only has a couple of inches of snow on it. The display in the console gives the date March 10th, and they’re in the Central Valley, he thinks, so whatever snow they got over the winter will be rapidly melting. They catch sight of a road sign that reads  _ Copperopolis - 20 Miles,  _ and agree to stop there for clothes. 

“Jesus.” Derek says as they drive through the town of Copperopolis. To even call it a town is being generous, truthfully. The entire downtown area is a single street, and not a large one, at that. There isn’t even a general store that they can spot, but another road sign points to something called the Town Square, and they drive down that way. 

The Town Square is clearly the most recently built of Copperopolis. Even abandoned for six months, the buildings are still nice-looking. They find their way to some indie clothing outlet, one that thankfully has clothes for toddlers as well, and was just stocked for winter. Derek snags himself a black peacoat and a blue cashmere sweater, as well as a pair of sturdy winter boots. Stiles catches sight of a grey, knee length jacket that has a $400 price tag on it and immediately falls in love with the thing. 

“Dude! Genuine herringbone!” He says as he slides the thing on. 

Derek gives him a look. “The fuck is herringbone?” 

“It’s a pattern for fabrics that’s very difficult to sew, hence why this jacket was stupidly expensive. Look at the lines, see how they intersect? Yeah, it’s difficult to do, but  _ so warm.”  _ He says, running his hands over the jacket. 

“It does look good on you.” He replies. “Money isn’t much a concern anymore, so count yourself lucky. It only took the end of the world for you to get a fancy coat.” 

“Asshole.” Stiles playfully smacks him on the shoulder. 

They get Alex into a bright blue down jacket and a pair of snow pants, before heading over to a tourist information kiosk. Grabbing a road map, Stiles traces a route with his finger. “We’ll take Route 4 to Stockton, and then I-5 to where it meets the 152 outside of Los Banos, then we ride the 152 all the way to where it meets the Pacific Highway, take that to Santa Cruz, and then we just take Route 9 back north to Beacon Hills. It’ll add an hour or two to the trip, but I don’t want to chance it.” 

“Stiles… this trip is mostly highways. What happened to avoid the highways?” Derek asks. 

“Der, we’re  _ werewolves.  _ What reason do we have to avoid highways anymore?” He responds. “I just wanna avoid San Jose because there’s a lot of werewolves there, and we don’t know if they’ve changed back like us or if they’re still feral.” 

Oh, right. They are werewolves. They both proved they could shift back and forth with concentration, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the population has come back to themselves. They know they’ll be safe with the pack, with Derek’s family, but they won’t chance it with strange wolves. 

Once they’re on the road again, Stiles reaches across the console and grabs Derek’s hand. “So… your mom is the alpha. We can both feel her.” He says. “They’re all okay.” 

“Yeah. But not your dad.” He replies. 

“Well, either the quarantine is still holding, or he’s… you know. Or, if he is like us, he might be part of another pack.” He suggests. “Look, we can deal with that matter later. Right now, I want to get back to  _ our  _ pack. We’ll figure out my dad when we’re home.”

The drive takes longer than expected, but neither of them wants to stop for the night. They have to divert around Stockton  _ and  _ Modesto because of the mess of cars clogging the roads surrounding the cities, and rerouting through the Central Valley was a pain in the ass even before the world ended. Derek takes over driving around sunset, and they have to stop to puncture another car’s gas tank in order to refill somewhere outside of Turlock.

At dawn, they raid a gas station that’s made it through almost untouched, and have a hearty feast of sugar-laden foods. It’s not ideal, especially for Alex, who is squirming and bouncing in Derek’s lap as they make the last leg of the trip, but it’s what they’ve got. It’s midday when they reach Santa Cruz, and the three of them are all practically vibrating. They’re  _ so damn close.  _ They stop, however, when they see two people, a man and woman walking down the street. 

“What do we do?” Stiles asks. “Are they human or…?” 

“We’re like you.” One of the people outside says. “We can hear you, and we know you can hear us.” 

They both get out of the vehicle, and approach the couple. “I’m Sam Gabriel, this is my wife, Jen.” The man says, holding out a hand.

“Derek.” Derek replies, shaking it. “This is Stiles, and the little one is Alex.”

“He’s adorable.” Jen adds, waving at Alex, who waves back. 

Sam clears his throat. “Where you guys heading?” 

“Beacon Hills.” Stiles says.

He shakes his head. “You won’t get in. A few of the local packs have been working together, patrolling the turf, even  _ before  _ everyone shifted back. We just came from there, it’s the only way to get to the Bay Area, the coastal highway is completely clogged going north.”

“So, it was everyone.” Derek murmurs. “Did they talk to you?” 

“Barely.” Jen says. “Just said the alpha wouldn’t let anyone through her territory. They pointed some very large guns at us, too.” 

“The alpha, did you catch a name?” Stiles asks, now slightly anxious. 

“Yeah. Alpha Hale.” 

“You’re fucking kidding!” Derek scoffs in disbelief.

“You know her?”

“Leave it to my fucking mother to make herself Queen of Beacon Hills.” 

-☣-

**Day 283**

They drive up, joined by the Gabriels, riding the surprisingly devoid Route 9 through to Ben Lomond, where they find a roadblock. Sure enough, two men stand there, each pointing rifles at the cars. Derek gets out, but instructs Stiles to stay in the car with the baby should something happen. 

“Turn around!” One of the men instructs. “This is the territory of the Hale, Ito, and Argent packs. No outsiders!” 

“My name is Derek Hale!” He yells. “Talia is my mother! I’m pack! They’re with us!” 

One of the men speaks into a pair of walkie-talkies. “There’s someone here claiming to be Alpha Hale’s son. Name of Derek. Four others with him.” 

For a moment, there’s silence, but a voice breaks across the radio.  _ ‘Bring them to the City Hall. We’ll dispatch someone to take your place on the barricade.’  _

“Hear that? City Hall, and if you even think of taking any detours, I will not hesitate to use lethal force.” The other man says. “Follow my car.” 

They drive through Ben Lomond, which is considerably smaller than Beacon Hills, and see little sign of life, aside from a few people cleaning up outside of their houses. Once they clear the hamlet, and get into Beacon Hills proper, Stiles summarizes their feelings best. 

“Holy…  _ shit.”  _

More people than they’ve seen since before this nightmare started are in the streets. They’re cleaning up bodies and moving cars, taking boards off of some windows and boarding up other, presumably broken ones. They drive past the sheriff’s station, where they spot none other than Jordan Parrish on the steps of the building, delivering instructions to two deputies, all of them cleaned up and in sheriff’s department uniforms. 

City Hall is located just down the street from the police station, and their escort parks on the roadside, getting out and waiting for them to do the same. For both Derek and Stiles, they can feel Talia nearby, and the drive to run to her is so hard to resist. They calmly walk up the sidewalk towards the building, but then the doors are opening, and there she is. 

“Derek, Stiles!” Talia yells, absolutely joyous. 

She sprints down the steps to meet them halfway, and gathers her only son in her arms, sobbing joyfully, before turning to Stiles and Alex and doing the same. 

“Hi, Mom.” Derek says, himself tearful.

She wipes at her eyes, trying to control herself. “I can’t… believe you’re here. I felt you coming, but, God it is  _ so  _ good to see you.”

“Nice place you got going here.” Stiles remarks, smiling blearily. 

“Yeah, everyone just… woke up. We’ve started organizing a cleanup operation, but it’s hard work. We’re dispatching people out soon to collect solar panels from the towns around us, we’re gonna try and get the lights going again.” Talia explains. “It’s a lot of work ahead.”

“We’ll figure it out.’ Derek promises, slinging an arm around his mate. “We always do.

-☣-

**Day 1125**

Principal Martin’s voice breaks over the speakers set up in the auditorium of Beacon Hills High School. “And now, an address from the valedictorian of the Class of 2022. Ladies and gentlemen, Genim Daniel Stilinski, better known as Stiles.”

Stiles steps up to the podium, and takes a deep breath, before beginning his speech.

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears… I’m just kidding. To the Class of 2022, my friends, my peers, my colleagues, I am so proud of all of us. This time three years ago, I would’ve never imagined we would be here. Sure, it kinda sucks that our education got pushed back a year, but we did make it. That said, there were plenty of losses along the way. A quarter of our classmates were lost in the Turning, and we carry the weight of their loss with us everywhere.”

He pauses, taking a sip from a bottle of water on the stand. “High school, like everything else, changed with the Turning. When we came back, it was to a world on the brink. A billion lives lost, whole cities brought to ruin. Even here, in the United States, the meltdown of a nuclear reactor in Mississippi has displaced thousands. At times, this felt less like high school and more like survival boot camp. We were taught how to hunt, to use our new senses in our environment, how to grow food and how to build a shelter. At the same time, it felt like the MTV version of what high school should be, based on the endless tears we all seemed to cry at one point or another.”

“My point,” Stiles continues. “Is that we made it, through Hell, high water, and some pretty rough full moons. The world still struggles, there are battles still being fought. The last holdouts of the human race that refuse our offer of coexistence still seek to fight against us, less than half the world has restored their power and water, and famine has driven some to desperation. But  _ here, now,  _ we stand tall. We go forth into this new, terrifying, and completely amazing world, better than we have ever been. We are strong, not just in our new bodies, but in the new souls that seemed to come with them.” 

“We will step forward, one foot in the light of the sun, and the other in the light of moon, and forever walk that line. It is our job, all of us, not just the graduates here, to be better than before. We must do better, must try harder than ever to be the best we can in this new normal. So, my friends, my family, my pack, I leave you with the sage words of William Shakespeare,  _ ‘It is the stars. The stars above us govern our conditions.’  _ Let us follow the stars, and the moon, into a better future. Thank you.” 

The rest of graduation seems to be a blur of names, diplomas, and a whole lot of tears. When they finally throw their caps, Stiles can’t believe it. They’re really done. The world ended, but they graduated high school. He’s pulled from this reverie by a flying hug from one very enthused Scott McCall. 

“Dude! We’re  _ free!”  _ Scott triumphantly crows. 

“Hell yeah, we are, man.” He responds, hugging the man he calls his best friend, his brother, as tightly as he can. 

Another voice, slightly taunting, breaks from behind them. “Leave it to you to squeeze not one, but  _ two  _ Shakespeare quotes into your graduation speech, and not make it tacky, Stiles.” Lydia Martin stands, smirking. “Good job.” 

“Thank you, my ever-so-gorgeous salutatorian.” He replies. “Your class president speech was one for the history books, as well.”

“Goddamn skippy.” 

Then, someone clears his throat. “Hate to interrupt, but I need to hug my son.” 

Stiles turns around and throws himself into his father’s arms. John Stilinski chuckles, and returns the embrace. 

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” John says, sincere and with tears threatening his eyes. “You have done so good these last three years.” 

“I learned from the best, Sheriff.” He replies. 

“Yeah, our esteemed alpha. Speaking of, I believe there’s another graduate who wants your attention.” He points to where Derek stands, grinning like a fool as parents and sisters pat him on the back, clustered with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. “Go see him.”

“Hey, there, gorgeous.” Stiles smirks. 

“Hey, yourself.” Derek taunts back, wrapping his arms around his waist. “You did great. Paige would’ve loved the  _ Julius Caesar  _ reference. In fact, historians think that whole speech of Brutus’ at the funeral might not have even happened-” 

Stiles holds up a finger to his lips. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

He does so gladly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, PLEASE review this monstrosity. You guys are awesome.


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